All shrubbery around is shaken by the wind
As smoking grey clouds threaten rain.
But I sit snugly in my lounge
Idly contemplating a chicken-breast tea.

The long heatwave is over
For now.
Atlantic air has swept the mugginess
Aside.
Thermometers have settled down
While cooler moisture sooths our very souls.

This lounge of mine presents a landscape too:
Of settee, armchairs and table
Along with dining chairs and TV:
Mountains over carpet savannas.

But the kitchen calls me from next door
So no matter how lazy I feel
I really have to eat now.
This interlude must end
So very soon.

Paul Butters

© PB 29/7/2018.

Swathes of swollen, rolling hills
With chops of fluffy, dry grass scattered over. It’s nice knowing they’re also not perfect, no one has cleared away they’re loose ends.
Silver, bumpy cloud fluff is grasped and pulled along through the air.
Blowing wind is picking up planting a chill on my arms raising the little hairs like baby fuzz.

spooky dark night,
whooshing rowdy wind shakes trees;
exorcism’s progress!

The wind... so breezy and lovely and cool.
It is what defines summer.
It's what gives you a chill when your out of the pool.
And makes your hair crazy and you look like a fool,
And people think you can't getter dumber.

It's invisible, but you feel it clearly.
It smells like flowers in bloom.
It tastes like salad that dust from a fairy
swept over you like a broom.

The stormy shore does blow
With all its wind and might
Then waves will crash
On rocks and splash
All throughout the night

***

Frothy waves tremble uneasily,
Seasick on the rolling tide
Shaken waters, choppy waves
Stormy seas on oceans wide

***

The troubled sea rolls in to shore
To bash along the rocky floor
And brushes quaint, the fishing boats
All of which no longer floats

***

The waves beneath my feet
My feet upon the pier
Day grows short, the end draws near
And dance along the rocky shore
For ever and forever more

***

Sea birds fly like kites
Soaring through the gusty winds
Sprayed by sea, they dance
In stormy revelry,
their wingéd fins of feathers
hoist them higher than the sails
Of ships, or spray of whales

A tap tap tap on my window
Startles me from my deep sleep
But as I look out silence only follows
I move slowly through the still night air
Wondering, pondering, "who is there?"
My mind it starts to reel,
The tension you can surely feel
But nothing
Not a sound not a noise
Not a step, not a voice
I lay myself back to sleep
Look to the pillow beside me
Empty, so empty like the room I see
A tap tap tap at my window
And now I start to see
Its only the windy night and dead trees
That wants to say hello to me

Sunny day
Cloudy day
Layabout in the house all day
Windy day
Rainy day
Woke up in a haze today
Happy day
Sad day
Back to work after a holiday

Not all leaves move with the wind.
Maybe because the others are too trampled on to move, too ground into the earth. Or maybe they're too stubborn and cling to the pile afraid to fly. But some let go.

They get picked up and carried and see more of the world. Loneliest. Loneliness is the price of worldliness. Ironic isn't it? The more you see the less time you have to connect and stay connected.

I'd still rather fly. So next breeze I feel I'm going to lean back, open up to opportunity and let myself be carried away.