Even the greatest gale
She is but a whisper
When Earth revolves
Beyond the speed of sound
Sometimes trees shatter
Waves surge and swash
Our hair backwards blown
She’s not quite glued to gravity
Vanilla vetiver pheromones
Pine resin wood smoke
Caramel of marshmallow
Wind-borne scent remembrances
So it is on this hill
White pines top the canopy
Nature’s breath comes on slowly
A gentle wash of kelp against rock
-----
When the beech and maple are bare
Her twirling Noreast shivers
Incite buzzing swarms of twigs
Too early for tree frogs thrumming
Summertime the green world
Breezes twinkle the poplar leaves
Light dances in the understory
Synchronous shadows depose balance
Geosmin rules the rainy perfume
Until lightning’s ozone owns the petrichor
With humidity the fungi fester
Perspiration like tidal pools
Dry autumn breezes
She signals school and funerals
Leafy mosiac tapestries shimmer
Arboreal cathedral calm for a time
-----
End of day end of season
Memory filling
Wind on the hill
Transience was never as permanent
Scattered black feather hoodlums
Break the calm of dusk
Murderous calls mete out justice
Upon one in their thieves band
Darkness lowers its late grey curtain
She holds her breath once more
Then turns about cool now
Flowing presently down this hill
There she sleeps
Fitful sleep of gasps and withers
Until with the morrow sun
Wind resumes her erstwhile ways
© Matty Adams, 2024