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