The East Wind

The forgotten grass of summer stands waist-high. No longer a lush rich green but now each stem has been reimagined needle thin and just a little stiffer than before. Where Summer’s grass leans into the wind. The fields of Autumn are pushed along, for Winter is in a hurry to clear the land for a snowy canvas. However, that will be for another day because the power of the sun still rules in the South.
The east wind plays and sings in the trees. They sway and move to its voice. With a strong gust the song breaks from the forests and spills into the meadow. The pale tan reeds are pushed low like dominos clearing a path they startle a flock of birds. The milling birds create a kaleidoscope of shapes that cling to the land before they vanish into the trees. As the last bird skirts into the foliage silence returns to the meadow and somewhere just beyond I hear the surf breaking and with its rhythmic beat the east wind begins its song again.

Reviews

[Thomas W Case]

Beautiful work. Powerful writing.

[RomaJ]

I love how this poem brings the meadow to life. The east wind feels like a character, playful and commanding, and the birds’ movement creates a vivid, almost cinematic moment.

[Cherrie]

Thank you, Roma. 🙂I hope to return the visit soon.

[Chris Shaw]

Sound and movement Cherrie, that’s what your words gift me. Movement of the wind in the trees and the meadow grass through the changing season. I liked the visuals of the pale grass and the birds as they took off in flight. Lovely imagery. Hope all is good with you.

Chris

[Cherrie]

Thank you, Chris, I appreciate your review and yes life is good. I hope all is well with you 🙂