Look out for the words
falling from the branches
As the late spring breeze brushes
wind
17 December
loosened leaves need external disruption
the autumn wind howls from the east then the west
the shaken trees stand taller and slimmer
the earth gains riches for the winter
Sort of inspired by Hildegard
scirocco
from the south the wind
softens biscuits, hardens hearts
open doors, damp nights
the summer is near ending
the sun is paler
the sun is paler than the milky sky
the winter east wind cuts faces deep
empty grey days stretch out ahead of us
empty days stretch out grey ahead of us
waiting for the event
southern sun cracks flagstones
northern wind cracks flags
old men sit in black shadow
wearing scarves
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.
simonsalento 