whispering through the fir needles
the wind sang the sweetest song
offering a soothing caress
to weary and battered ears
t’would only be a moment
barely a respite
yet enough to satiate
a deep welling hunger
granting peace and pause
to a subconscious fringe dwelling
tossing haphazardly conspiracy
into the mundane and ordinary
eyes closed and face up tilted
the breeze brings a remembrance
flooding thoughts and flashbacks
of childhood summer
fresh green grass between stubby pink toes or
windows down one hundred eight m.p.h.
Honda CRX and crank
burning and gaging through sinuses and
Jorn Lake in September
mosquito free, planted rainbow’s jumping
eyes open to the swaying needles
for one second
there is only the wing song –