THE WINDS THAT BLOW THROUGH OUR LIVES

If you think of the winds that blow
Through our lives, you might think:

Of the wind of childhood, blowing
The tall grasses and hayflowers along
The hedges, setting the poplar leaves
A-flutter—the wind you always
Wanted to capture, set down,
Whose beauty you guessed at, felt,
But could not see, could not frame;

Of the summer breeze, stirring
In the hot evening, bringing
Cool air, carrying the sweet smell
Of jasmine—scent of a love
Too intense to bear, yet borne;

Of the wind of late summer, smelling
Of harvest smoke, of ripeness,
Provoking restless thoughts—
Desire to begin a journey
Before winter sets well in;

Of a cold autumn wind, tearing
Summer to pieces, dragging clouds
Like dirty hanks of wool
Across the mountain tops, blowing
Squalls of stinging rain before it;
Of the wind on a winter's night,
Gusting in the darkness, only it
Moving between the unseen earth
And the cold starry sky—
Arcturus glaring in the north,
Body disembodied, chilled to the bone;

Of a great gale from out of the west,
Pushing huge waves against the headland,
Carrying salt spray far inland,
Tossing and clattering bare branches,
Bringing boughs low, making
Woodland trunks creak and scream;

Of the hot wind from the desert,
Swirling dust, stirring the salt-bush,
As you walked there to find out
Who you are, where you are;

If you think of these winds, you
Think of the scudding, gusting wind,
The living wind, the wind that blows
Through our lives, through all lives—
Original, living principle,
First, always and everywhere.