The way of the wind
I long to be at one with the wind,
like an un-tethered falcon, breathing
into the wind, wind breathing into me,
I'd play with currents,
gliding, climbing swooping down,
thrill in the groin, mastering how
and where and when the wind blows,
when it stops to rest,
gathering strength to huff and puff again, searching
for pellucid streaming spaces to remain aloft.
Wind is always restless and quixotic,
now a balmy breeze, soft as a lovers kiss
on a beloved’s eyelid, barely able
to tumble a tuft of milkweed floss.
Later, a nor ‘easter blowing
with road-raging bombastic velocity, bullying everyone out of
its way, boats left quaking in their anchorages,
rocking mournfully in a safe harbor.
I’d witness every tempest, the whirlwind
velocity of a monsoon,
the tyrannical tumult
of hurricane, as menacing as a fire-eating
dragon slamming trailers, crushing them like beer cans,
uprooting trees like a game of pick-up sticks.
Wind teaches wisdom and patience, a Taoist reminder that all is change
In the search of the elusive now. I can seize the moment, go with
the flow, like water seeking the point of least
resistance, or like an aikido master harness
threatening energy for my own purpose,
the way a sailor learns to come about in head
winds and find his way back home.
By Milton Ehrlich