The Wind

Originally posted 3/22/2018

The flame, a spot of light, a spark,
my fingertips, cold, icy nose,
wind blowing, leaves, flying,
the frigid air brings a chance to claim a new pattern.

There is a ripening within,
sun's warmth,
satisfying heat of the first sip of coffee,
warm in my hands and on my tongue,

I wonder at the wind,
she blows cold or warm,
can change the world with a gust,
invisible and powerful,
hiding,
seemingly still but a quivering leaf gives her away;
can fan a flame or extinguish a candle,
caress an arm or chill deep inside,
blow away debris and dead leaves,
clearing.

I savor the spark,
the light,
the warmth,
the leaf flying past,
and the wind rearranging the leaf patterns on the fallow ground.


© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018




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