Sleepless, I lay listening to the wind, wondering what it whispered and whence it came. It moved around the house, insinuating itself through the half open window, stealing across the bed to rattle the door; a silent intruder.
Where had it come from… where does it begin? Where will it expire in a final sigh? What had its blind breath seen since its birth and what secrets would it carry to its ending. How far, how long had it come before it touched my face? Perhaps it had caressed the cheek of a stranger before me, or a love far away or even a long-ago almost forgotten. Did it carry the whisper of a name within its heart, longed for in the dark? The murmuring of lovers, of the sobs of silent grief? How many stories does it know and is its voice made of whispers or the prayers of a child?
How many breaths does it take to make the wind? And who is breathing? Is it the breath of earth or the sighing of dragons that bends the grass and plucks the petals from the cherry trees, showering children with spring’s confetti? Is it born of the butterfly or the wings of birds in the morning?
It carries the perfume of a thousand roses and the taint of as many deaths, it holds life from beginning to end with insubstantial arms, gathering all into itself, becoming one with it, echoing it in its moods. In winter it howls… vulpine and feral, tearing at brittle fingers of dying wood, stripping away the effete. Scavenger of the gods, picking clean the skeletal remains of autumn.
In summer it is a welcome caress, laughing softly in the canopy of dancing light, waltzing with dust devils in the sunshine, cooling the blushing cheeks of a first love, or the tears of a last. As the trees turn golden and weep for summer’s end it breathes upon the gravestones, revealing forgotten names and iridescent beetles, piling leaves for childlike feet to play in.
Does it ever stop, or only sleep, resting awhile in a quiet valley? Does it carry the wish of the heart in its own? Or do we inspire its inspiration?
Or is it just the ghost of a dream…
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
Beautiful the way you penned
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Thank you.
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Awesome writing Sue!!
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Thanks, Daisy.
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You have such a way with words, Sue. Thanks.
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Thank you, Darlene.
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Midnight musings. Lovely.
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Thanks, Sadje.
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You’re welcome 😊
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🙂
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Beautiful. Thank you, Sue. ❤
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Thank you, Jane. x
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Thanks for sharing this to our group, Jane.
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I have never thought of wind in quite that way, Sue. Especially the kind we had the other night. It sounded like a train roaring past my window…
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We hada fair bit of howling around here x
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Pingback: Listening to the wind — Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo – yazım'yazgısı (typography)
Lovely writing, Sue. I always feel if we listen closely enough we’ll hear the stories it is telling.
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Thank you, Mary. It does seem to want to speak to us x
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That’s lovely Sue.
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Thanks, Fransi.
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Beautiful reflection and musing on the wind, Sue. At least when you lie awake, your time is well spent. ❤
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There is always plenty to ponder 😉
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The willo the wisp?
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Perhaps 😉 x
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That is beautiful, Sue.
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Thank you, Viv.
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Beautifully penned, Sue, a pleasure to read. Thank you!
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Thank you, Eliza.
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Breathtakingly beautiful words and photo, Sue… ❤
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Thank you, Bette x
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Stunning prose Sue. ❤
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Thank you, Debby ❤
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❤
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Hail, o Wind, and salutations. 🙂
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The earth breathes 😉
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Interesting take on our beloved kamakani. 🙏💜
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Thanks, Bela 🙂
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Have you read Emily if New Moon by LM Montgomery, Sue? This piece reminds me of her wind woman. Very lovely and apt.
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No, I haven’t come across that one, Robbie.
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Beautiful musing on the wind, Sue! I’ve never contemplated the wind in this way. ❤️
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Sometimes I wonder if I think too much 😉
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I just love how you write your thoughts, Sue.
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Thanks, Jennie.
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You’re welcome, Sue.
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🙂
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Wonderful prose inspired by a breath taking photo. Thank you.
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Thank you, Geri. That sky was amazing.
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