Wind at My Back
Oct 17 2021
If I face into the wind
and walk for as long as I can
— leaning in
eyes tearing, hair streaming behind —
will I eventually get to its end?
Its force ebbing
the quiet deepening
until I enter an oasis of calm,
where the air is still
and the world at rest?
Where the wind begins.
Where the heat of the sun
seeps into the earth
and drives the great machine of weather.
The watershed
from which it wells
and blows in every direction,
the mother of all the winds
south, east, west.
Today, it's from the north
strong and steady and fresh.
So the air is clear
the land has been scoured clean.
And the sound in the trees
thrills me with its power;
trunks creaking menacingly
leaves flapping frenetically
and rotten branches threatening
to crash to earth.
It feels almost effortless
walking with the wind at my back.
Like a tumbleweed, it takes me at its pleasure
and I happily accede,
relinquishing my will
to its unstoppable force.
As if I had a choice.
As if I ever had control.
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