Loving What The Winds Will Bring

The winds bring things

from where the world begins

or ends. It depends

which way you’re coming

or going. There’s no way of knowing

what the winds will blow

into your corner of the world.

The winds can bring an eastern beast

with teeth of ice, or something nice

and warm, southern borne,

sent to please us, tease us,

like the scent of jasmine flowers

in the evening hours of a soft

summer night. They bring the birds

from everywhere, from over there

to over here, and back, near to far,

when the right time comes, when

the season is done. The sun comes

out when the winds blow clouds

over the hills and far away, and goes

back in when weasel winds bring

cold and wet and rainy days. The winds

blow on and on and on and on,

they never cease, they come and go,

they never stay. You never know

how long they’ll last, how hard

or fast they’ll blow. Right past your

door they go, rattlesome breezes

on unfit windows, swaying trees

and bringing unease to your mind

as behind you a thing takes a fall

and clatters down in surprise

to the dust-devilled ground.

It just goes around and around

and around the world ’til it swirls

back to town and begins yet again

to blow like the wind,

this way and that,

right there and back.

Wherever it goes,

nobody knows

the way the wind blows.