The wind roars through branches with its calls like ocean.
Birds against gray stretch wings and veer left, right, and the wind takes them where the wind will. And they do not struggle.
They live this soaring dance.
I walk under rocking power lines and large, creaking branches.
I feel the fear. They could drop and end me.
Wind pushes, and rain drops and pant legs whip; feet, undergirded by gust, propel forward each step.
My raincoat presses against my ears, and the wind — it churns.
It is all I can hear.
And I am small.
In whirling, breathing power, I am a kayak in sea. Pebble on a mountain top. Bird on sky’s expanse.
Control is not my possession.
The wind fills my nose and mouth. My breathing is thank you for the gift:
I am small. He is not.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
Ashley,
I think I might recognize that photo?
I love the sparse, poetic verse…this tale of wind and it’s power, it’s ability to put us in our place in creation.
Lovely beautiful reminder.
Angela
Thank you, Angela. You do indeed recognize that amazing place – the Wallowas (ah, those treasured memories). I do love being put in my place in the miracle of creation.
Interesting; I too, Angela, recognize (I think?) the locale. And if correct, Ashley, was also inspired there by the wind. Not to put pen to paper, but with a feeling deep in my core, that lives there still. There is something very special about that place and about the prose you write.
Thank you for your comments, Uncle Don. They are so appreciated. The place is the Wallowas — so majestic and awe-inspiring. I must say that it was really the sense of small-ness that caused me to attach this photo to this piece. Though the wind was moving some on this day, it was that sense of perspective, of how I fit into the picture of creation under the All-Powerful Creator that struck me at my core, as you say so beautifully. Thank you again for your thoughts. So, is that where you thought it was? Is there another beautiful place I must visit? :)
You’re welcome! Yes it is where I thought it was. I fought fire Wallowa Whittman National Forest in the 70’s. Amazingly enough, I picked up a blue indian trade bead somewhere very near where this picture was taken. I think of how it got there, and how ‘you got there’, and how I was there for a moment in between. Joeseph’s bands of Nez Perce were all over those hills not too long ago, I like to think it’s the little Native blood we share that makes that connection to that place a little more special.
But like you, the “Inspiration” of which I write, took place elsewhere, albeit for me only 20 miles or so away. For you, maybe further in miles, still connected to it in Spirit, nonetheless. It is amazing country.
As to your last question: “Yes!” lol. Don
Wow. I didn’t realize you fought fires there in the 70’s. I love the thought of things in place and all those connections over time, physically and spiritually. It is an incredible place. I can’t wait for my next visit back!
Well I’m sad about this…I left a comment this morning, as soon as your post was published, but the comment never made it to your site. I haven’t a clue as to what happened. I loved this post. Felt the powerful gusts, heard the roar, the powerlessness against it, and felt uplifted. And yes, too, I felt the being-small. Now I’m hurrying back to read it for a Third time.
@ Spree: Your post didn’t make it? You know comments are screened , right? Glad you cleaned it up this time around as it is after all, a family oriented site. Lol- jus’ kiddin’! Strong writing, right? Remember a windy day at the beach?
I DO remember a windy day with you! Maybe one day, we’ll do another! : )
:)
Not to worry, Mama. I so love that combination of powerlessness and uplifting. Yes!
I feel the sensation of which you speak. Wind and nature have always been a perfect combination. Wind gives song to what we see; it is the voice of nature. Your thoughts evoke my memories of the Alps. Love, Papa
I’ve heard the Wallowas are called, “The North American Alps” Uncle Pete. Liked what you wrote.
Ooops! I was talking with one of the older kids (Wil), reading the blog and the posts. When I mentioned to him that the Wallowas are called, “The North American Alps” he said I should, “…tell Uncle Pete that”. So I did- without realizing I had in effect, referred to you as, “Uncle”. There that’s better, lol. We all liked what you wrote, BTW.
Don, nice to see you on the blog. Hope all is well with you and your loved ones. Yeah, I have heard that before about the ‘Wallowas’. It is definitely appropriate. Happy New Year! Take care, Pete
Haha! So touched you’d read my stuff to the fam. :)
I love your poetry here: “Wind gives song to what we see; it is the voice of nature.” Wow, that is beautiful. I could sit in that for a nice, long time. The Alps (and the Wallowas pictured here) both gave me that sense of the best kind of smallness. It is so good to be reminded of and feel our place in the bigger whole.
Much like the feeling you get when you look through a powerful telescope. Or having the shadow of the moon go sailing past you when witnessing a full solar eclipse. These humbling events are definitely some of the finer things in life.
@ Pete: Happy New Year to you too Brother!