Natural Events
Hear the wind’s soft whistle as it explores the eaves?
What a perfect harmony each new zephyr weaves.
Each mourning wail original, each sad and keening cry
takes my heart on with it as it passes by.
All man’s detailed projects for capturing the wind
only make short use of it. Again, it will ascend
far up above all of us to what created it.
For all our petty problems, the wind cares not a whit.
The sadness we project upon the wind is ours alone,
for the wind has nothing for which it must atone.
In our attempts to harness it, as we make our demands,
we forget we’re part of nature. How have we served as its hands?
Where does the wind live? Find out HERE.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
I love this!
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Thanks Victoria, for letting me know you enjoyed the poem.
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Beautiful! ❤
The Catalyst
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Thanks, Nila.
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Warm wind is one of the most pleasurable feelings on the skin; biting wind is horrific. I enjoyed your poem about wind.
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Thanks, Carol. Glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for commenting. Lately I’ve had a different sort of wind sound here in Mexico that I’d only heard in South Dakota when I was small. It is the whining howling wind wrapping around the corners of my house.. lonely and very eerie but beautiful.
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Beautifully written.
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As I was growing up, I thought that the trees made the wind. It was a little far fetched, I know, because I also knew that wind blew on the ocean and made sailboats move! It took me a long time to understand that the wind was the propellant both for the sailboats and for the tree limbs as they swayed! Ah for the minds of children!
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Now there is a poem in that, Janet.
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Only if I were a poet!
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Then I’ll steal it, okay, Janet???
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No need to steal — I’ll offer it to you for a poem!
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If you remember it, please include in your poem that word that I can’t remember that Forgottenman used to describe my “donzerly light” from the Star Spangled Banner. It was a similar childhood misunderstanding!
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Okay Forgottenman, what’s she referring to? Ironic that forgottenman is one who never forgets!!
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The wind lives in that wind picture we used to see in our children’s poetry books. It looks sort of like the sun, but with puffy cheeks and little lines that indicate wind.
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Remember the Old Mother Westwind Stories? I know the puffy-cheeked wind you are talking about, but not from these books.
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Re. “donzerly” – see the comments in this post: https://judydykstrabrown.com/2018/08/12/the-roue/#comments
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