Grant Patch

Wind and Pine

Watch the wind blow
From the north across
Barren icy hills, through valleys
And over mountain,
It brushes through the pines
In the far north
Full of dripping icicles
To which they add
The sweetness you can taste by breathing.
It moves faster, but still
Takes the time to converse
With a simple cloud, to which it adds
Dampness, that you can feel in your skin,
Late in deep night.
It covers miles, and from the far north
Comes a chill breeze, still razor-edged
And sharp with scent of pine.
Across savanna it blows, and swirls around
Some leaves, which lends its memories,
Of dusty tomes and apple cores
As well as smoke, still rising from the fire.
It covers leagues, and from the west
comes a warmer wind, milder now,
the fragrance of pine dulled by dream.
Across forest it flies, through the
Sunlight dappled wilderness, twisting
Through shadows and in the afternoon
It rests, in the hours where
morning was years ago,
and evening is beyond the grasp of
it rests amongst the worms
and ladybugs
next to a fallen tree.
It rises, and with it comes the
Joy of life,
The joy so great figures
Carved in stone,
Decide they’ve waited long enough
And leave their frames
To elope at long last.
It takes years, but finally the wind,
Thawed now, covered in
Pine, dust, memories and
Makes it to a certain tree.
It billows itself along its
Branches, to
Its needles and entices them
To dance.
It swirls around, bending
Bough and limb and causing them to
Tango, slowly, with their
Shadows reflected upon my window.
I watch in awe
As all I know
Watching the wind blow
Is that the wind made the trees dance
for me.


Copyright 2002-2006 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2006 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.