Wind blowing in my hair
As I walk along the sand-blown sea shore.
Breathing the salt into my lungs
Catching my breath
As the wind whips into my face
Trying to breathe in and relax
But the wind against my body too strong,
Forcing me to tense
And hold on to my breath
I dip my fingers into the inkpot of fire
As I write away my life.
The earth is solid
Digging deep into the depths of the land
Don't know where it will take me
As I enter the tunnel
In the shelter of the bottom of the garden.
Holding onto the wind
With my fingertips
As I lean against its force
In my walk to work that morning.
I wondered how real and tangible
This element was.
Where does the wind come from?
What force of nature it is?
So powerful as it lifts me off my feet
Sweeping me along with the crisply autumn leaves.
I have a flashback
A memory of hot winds in Catalonia
Shifting the sands on the shoreline into a dusty mist
Seeping under your eyelids as you lie
Trying to read the latest Richard and Judy best-seller.
Is that the same wind as this,
Or do we have our own separate winds across the world?
In America they give names to hurricanes.
Should we each go along that route?
Should we name our own winds
And keep them as pets?
And care for them when they are sick?
Bury them in the garden
When they die down and fade away altogether?
Sometimes the wind over the sea
Whips up the waters into a storm
Two elements working together in a frenzy.
But the element fire cannot survive in the water
Even when fuelled by the wind.
Water soaks into the earth
Wind dries out the earth
Sucking up the moisture into the air again
The circle of life in Elements.