When the Wind Whispers

I feel it coming
    when the wind wrestles with my hair.
A sixth sense
    when my skin meets the new come air.
Forbearing,
    that I’ll meet you there.

I trudge through the forest,  I’ll visit a friend.
Or I’ll drive to work,  Or a letter I’ll send.
I stand strong, and feel it there.
It’s the wind playing with my hair.
I try so hard to plug my ears,
And to cover up my deepest fears,
With thoughts of cheer and happiness.
Even though my life is such a mess.

I play with my cat, or clean the things I keep.
Or I’ll go running, or I’ll just sleep.
No matter what I do, the wind still blows.
I fear all the things that it knows.
Worst of all, at night when it howls,
Out from this world of darkness, it’s very bowels,
The wind; it whispers to me.
It whispers to me day in and day out.
The wind talks gently about,
The world it has explored over and over.
It’s blown in every direction, but can never be still,
No matter how it could will.
To the wind, like a curse;  but to me a foolish dream.
We are just the opposite extreme.
I shall some day lay to rest.
The wind will continue on, never to nest.
Immense in proportion, and always so strong,
The wind never forgets to sing me a song.

By Linda Laforge