southern sun cracks flagstones
northern wind cracks flags
old men sit in black shadow
wearing scarves
wind
sun low
sun low
wind a knife
every day half a sky is held
The wind has turned
The wind has turned and is growing wings. Beach umbrellas ripple shade. On the deeper blue toward the horizon the first white horses appear. But still the tourists float their children out to sea on inflatable mattresses and blow-up fruit.
Tramontana
The people stood and watched the tramontana take the world past them, clouds, palm leaves, things from gardens that would not be missed and those that most definitely would.
It was so strong it tore a small girl’s midday shadow clean away from her feet. Black against the whiteness, it went tumbling and turning down the dusty lane until it was lost in the shade of the oak trees. The girl stared wide-eyed at where her shadow had been and turned her face up towards her mother, who patted her head and ruffled her hair and hid her own tears.
“A day it’s born, a day it lives, a day it dies,” someone muttered, “but this is its fourth day and now it’s taking shadows.” There was silence except for the sound of the wind.
Cherry blossom clouds
Cherry blossom clouds
I close my eyes and you dream
The east wind wakes us
Portobello Beach Easter Monday
Smoke-like curtains of rain sweep across the Forth, stopping short of the sand. People frown across at Fife, exchange worried glances. Buggies are turned away from the wind. Men in kilts have their Marilyn moments. Chips catch sand. Ice cream drips onto woollen gloves. And then the rain arrives.
The wind is restless
The wind is restless
as ever, never sleeping.
Deep breaths. In. And out.
The Legend of Castro
The northerly breeze gently rolled the screen
while the Turks waited for the scirocco
to bring them to land.
The ice wind breathes
The ice wind breathes ever harder; one by one city lights go out.
They hold hands. If they are ever found, they will be found together.
October strides in
October strides in,
her fisted gloves of red gold leaves
holding the foreboding frozen heart of winter.
She kicks the trees with wild swings;
Their branches sway and leaves blow in her face like tears.
She strides on and, in the distance behind her,
The echoed howls of winter wolves grow louder.
