BE QUIET AND LISTEN

 

 

There is a point in all of us

Somewhere in our DNA

Where nature overtakes nurture

And we are able to hear the cry

From our long forgotten past.

 

It is the wind that speaks to us

Beyond our cell-phones and I-Pads

Beyond our tv’s and computers

When everything that consumes our daily lives

Is shut down and there is silence.

Then we can hear the wind.

 

I have heard it and felt it before

But each time in a place of silence

and alone.  The wind. More than a whisper:

A cry, a howl, a roar – a voice

That brings back a clouded memory

Something through a glass darkly

Of a time when I am dressed in skins

Huddled in a cave or blow down shelter

And the wind outside is warning me

Don’t come out. I am strong. I am Nature.

I am god.

the Ol'Buzzard

 

WIND

I am obsessed with the wind

Of all natures children

Of all natures gods

It is the wind that awes me most

I can view the sunrise and sunset

And feel the sun's warmth on my skin,

I can appreciate the eerie light of a full moon

reflected on a snowbound world,

I can see and hear the tumbling water of a stream

And experience the pleasant serenity of a lake.

But it is the wind

I can welcome the soft touch of a snowflake

as it kisses my face,

And shiver as the rain soaks my clothes

and chills my frame,

I can hear thunder 

and startle at the streak of lightning ripping the sky.

But it is the wind that speaks to me.

I have bask at the fire that brings contentment

and warmth to my home,

And choked as my lungs fill with smoke 

as the forest burned away,

I have driven on the ice

on the Kuskokwim River.

But it is the wind

I have seen the northern light

blaze in the twenty-four-hour night,

I have felt the penetrating chill

of the cold at fifty below,

But it is the wind

the wind I remember most.

Huddled in my bed in a tiny log cabin

In the darkness of the never ending Arctic night

While the wind outside, unrelenting, warned me

‘You do not belong here.  This is my world.  I rule here.  Hear me and quake.’

It is the wind

The relentless wind that keeps me awake tonight.

the Ol'Buzzard

WIND

I am obsessed with the wind

Of all natures children

Of all natures gods

It is the wind that awes me most

I can view the sunrise and sunset

And feel the sun's warmth on my skin,

I can appreciate the eerie light of a full moon

reflected by a snowbound world,

I can see and hear the tumbling water of a stream

And experience the pleasant serenity of a lake.

But it is the wind

I can welcome the soft touch of a snowflake

as it kisses my face,

And shiver as the rain soaks my clothes

and chills my frame,

I can hear thunder 

and startle at the streak of lightning ripping the sky.

But it is the wind that speaks to me.

I have bask at the fire that brings contentment

and warmth to my home.

And choked as my lungs fill with smoke 

as the forest burned away.

I have driven on the ice

on the Kuskokwim River,

But it is the wind

I have seen the northern light

blaze in the twenty-four hour night,

I have felt the penetrating chill

of the cold at fifty below,

But it is the wind

the wind I remember most

Huddled in my bed in a tiny log cabin

In the darkness of the never ending Arctic night

While the wind outside, unrelenting, warned me

‘You do not belong here.  This is my world.  I rule here.  Hear me and quake.”

It is the wind

The relentless wind that keeps me awake tonight