In the glistening of Spring
young winds are born,
hatchling mouth gaping
for frozen bits of thermal carrion,
gleaning what nourishment they can
from the keening of last winter’s gales.

Summertime zephyrs are on their own,
casting themselves in currents of warmth,
deciding from moment to moment 
whether they will caress or sting.
They move as they must
for only those most fit
may sail forward into Fall.

Late autumn gales dance in glee,
plucking the trees for adornments
to dress themselves, pushing
the dead scales of summer
through wild ranges
to line west facing cliffs
in hopes of spawning anew.

And in the depths of winter’s bite
they prance in waxing and waning strength,
mating with abandon,
showcasing the power of vernal rage,
cradling each other’s breezes
in the glacial nooks of high rocks,
Scattering truth in their wake,
waiting for Spring.

Views: 34

Comment

You need to be a member of Our Salon to add comments!

NEW BLOG POSTS

A Question About Tulsi Gabbard

Posted by Ron Powell on January 21, 2019 at 7:16pm 0 Comments

MLK; The dream is still alive

Posted by Dicky Neely on January 21, 2019 at 3:24pm 0 Comments

Three Steps Back

Posted by Robert B. James on January 21, 2019 at 8:30am 3 Comments

If King Were Alive Today...

Posted by Ron Powell on January 21, 2019 at 6:30am 12 Comments

A Plague Upon Our House

Posted by Boanerges on January 20, 2019 at 4:09pm 10 Comments

Pissing Contest

Posted by Robert Young on January 20, 2019 at 12:00pm 5 Comments

Door to Door

Posted by J.P. Hart on January 20, 2019 at 9:58am 6 Comments

What It Isn’t

Posted by Robert B. James on January 20, 2019 at 8:30am 4 Comments

© 2019   Created by lorianne.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Privacy Policy  |  Terms of Service