The Wind.
The wind blows: blossoms from trees, dust from the path, yesterday's news, the hat from your head, your umbrella inside out, a small dog to the end of his lead, the perfume from from your wrist, the blood from your face, all thoughts from your head, a single can of coke, around and around and around, your sense of freedom, the branches in a straight line, the flag from its pole, your voice from my ear, your smile from your lips, and that letter I wrote, before you could read it - and all that it said.
posted by Clare Dudman at 8:58 am
2 Comments:
Beautiful writing Clare. I feel like you've given me back a little of what the recent wind has tried to take from me, that mainly being a couple of nights unbroken sleep, and a panel of our fence, now allowing a ripe window for our neighbours to peer through.
Ha, thanks Jem. Sounds like our garden!
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