Comes Now The Wind
Posted: Wednesday, May 05, 2010
by Richard Radtke
http://www.cottagebythelane.com
Today the wind is blowing strong, it rattles and bangs the windows of our old farmhouse, pushes and pulls at the trees on its flight. With the debris picked up on its travels, it dances, then places each piece down with care, as though knowing where, this small bit goes here, this odd fellow there. I watch from behind the rattling window, as it works, as it plays, placing and moving, rearranging things, as it were. In my mind I see how much how much like an old woman making a quilt the wind is, an old lady picking up scraps of fabric saved throughout the year, and setting them out, here a piece and another one there, moving them one by one, until each piece is arranged with care, and the stitching begins. The wind, like the old lady, arranges with care, carefully placing things then unknown from here to there. This very land, farmed now for well over one hundred years is a testament to that fact, the loess brought here, from there, through the years.
Comes now the wind..., gliding in the dark of night one can hear it softly caressing the side of the house, or sometimes it plays in the grove, softly rustling the leaves in the spring, a quiet thing. Sometimes it screams as it passes by, or moans heavily with a sigh... It blows, it kisses, and it howls, wild in it's flight, but it is always there... somewhere.
To the sailors of old the wind could be either friend or foe. When it blew just right, it beckoned ships home. The salt stained sails of their ships, filled with its breathe and the passage was swift and sure, sometimes too, the wind deserted them, there in the sea, no breeze, no puff, and the sails hung slack and still in the burning sun. It may have returned to them then, dark and grim, whipping up foam in its mad flight, and they, they lay bent in fear, the sails shredded, flapping in the blow, the ship rolling up, then down and once more, again and again, until finally, at last, as though tired of the game the creaking oaken hull finally gave in. Below to a wet, cold, unknown tomb they go and the wind, tiring too, of its game with men, dances on..., across the waves, to where..., somewhere.
On land it may scream, like a banshee in the night presaging a storm of spring, or perhaps to gently roam, playfully push a cloud from here to there and back again. To a child at play, a smile it brings, clutching, pulling taut a kite string. It pirouettes with the leaves, dancing them gently across the fall colored lawn. As the first crystalline snowflakes of winter fall, gently, carefully, it pushes them..., here, then there, until tiring of this too, it releases them each one to gently alight, each flake to rest pon the other, transforming the dull hued earth with their blazing white. Then like a child tiring of the game, the wind rushes on, whistling, singing, in the pure joy of its flight, and you know it is there ... somewhere.
It sings out in the night. With it, it carries the scent of its travels, the smell of pine from a high mountain peak, of a dew covered meadow in a valley far away, of unseen oceans, or newly shorn hay. There are times it arrives with the promise of spring, the smell of primrose, or lilac, heavy on its breath. It can come with the edge of a knife, that cuts deep with its bite. Can you see it?, there, watch it blow, but how does an artist paint it? I certainly do not know, but it is there... somewhere.
Sometime, in the silence that follows the passage of its flight, walk outside and really look at what you see, it may surprise you. Your yard free of clutter yesterday..., may now brim, each piece placed with loving care by the wind. An odd thing there, or a new thing here. A branch broken from a mighty oak seemingly placed with a master's care...(gently, delicately, here...). Leaves, from who knows where, placed carefully..., there, and paper strewn. Nature's patch-work quilt, the seamstress...the wind.
Copyright 2010 RRRadtke
My Website: http://www.cottagebythelane.com
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Poetic prose, Richard. You took me on a welcome journey to unexpected places. I live in a windy place and often just feel the wind as a hostile thing. Perhaps if I can broaden the images my mind holds of it, my experience will be different.Thanks!Thank you for your observations, I too live in a place with more than enough wind at times, and most of the time I enjoy it, but days on end of it kills the mood.
Richard,You write with such eloquence. You captured my attention from beginning to end ,and I loved it! Great work! another addition to my favorites. Thank you.
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