The high wind

Right now, it’s raining
and the wind is coming
through the trees in
a high rushing; and
I’m re-minded of
something I experienced
yesterday, in standing
out side, listening.

From off to the west,
two ravens chortled
their bell-like croaks
and they continued
calling, one to the
other, till I could see
them approaching.

And then, in flying
close by, like black
cloaks, they kept
calling out to each
other, till — the
silence in between
song — I could hear

the sound of their
wings, a deep rushing
push, of wings in
wind. And in that
moment, I recalled
then, the timbre
of the wind, high

trees, the sliding
rush of that moment.
So now, I hear the
wind, and then, I
heard the wind. Each
recalling the other,
and I remembered,
backwards and for
wards, in time.

And it’s like that,
the wind — teaching
me to listen, what’s
now, what’s past,
all in passage:
moment to moment,
to be held. I’m here.

tsg | the island |