FINGERS IN THE WIND
The crisp air continuously blowing
gaseous in form through the atmosphere…
sometimes of tones gentle and windy
causing not only the chiming of garden bells
but the blowing through garments worn
while walking across the lawn;
of course again there’s rustling of other clothes
whilst hanging amongst wooden pegs,
but once so often, comes the gust
of force enough, those clothes almost fall
as windmill blades in motion wave
cutting plainly into the floating air.
Yet other times, tornadoes fierce gales
wind up most things within their paths,
the loud howling of intense gusts
herald the storms thundering blasts;
twisters huge among cyclones speed
noisily, crackling with velocity wild
over roof tops and across troubled plains.
Then harrowing hurricanes, spare little relief,
their havoc spreading over sodden paths
while screeching high pitched above blinding rain
as scattering debris not far behind pile high.
Then… comes gentle shaking of tree limbs
petals again softly moving in the wind
balloons afloat in the clear breeze,
in the sky soar kites different in form
keeping company of feathered birds flying on high.
Across the lawn fallen leaves blow
lifting and twirling as circles amid the air
as meadows now calmed in awe do bend
to perceive these in better span and view,
all bringing to mind, without much doubt
even if in dimensions varying, the concept
of fingers in the wind.
Jan ’96 ©