Day of the Winds

The day falls at the end of May or early June, at the start of every summer, when the warm air collides with the cool.

On this day, the wind blows ferociously, tufting the clouds and bending the trees until they bow.  It is a long, constant wind, with a beginning somewhere in the countries beyond, bringing leavened scents of flowers that do not exist here.

It is a festival day when you set fires in the lull of the wind, and then watch as it starts again, sweeping the fire sideways.  Everything that is thrown into the fire leaves too, ash swept far, far away from here.  We do not know where the wind ends.

It is a day of clairvoyance and clarity, when the sky is empty and you can see as far as the mountains in the distance, and the gleam of towns at their foothills.

It is a day to take your old memories, the ones that are useless and stifle you, and release them to the wind – so that you can finally, finally forget.

Nomad Feet

Cinch the reins, calm him down,
Knot tight the bags that hold my things,
Throw the grass to test the breeze,
First gently trot to test his knees,
swift,
Borne of wind and of the wind, no regrets no memories,
No time to think, no backwards glance, no heed to rain or snow or sleet,
Frost of dawn on barren towns, diving hawk, tempest blast on fallen crowns,
Banner flies, shadow of the peregrines – as children of the wind we move to live.