Voices on the Wind
Learning with winds
by Lars Samson
It had to have been those sneaky, late-afternoon
breezes — that first fall in high desert. Almost cold,
coming from darkness crouched behind the mountains. Whispering,
sometimes losing patience and building to an insistent
but civil exhale. Nudging branches to flap
arms for my attention. Or subtly
mime their disbelief.
Winds here are easy to misread. Especially for city folk
not used to unprocessed lands and forces that know
we are their guests.
Air needs listening as friend. Holding each word and silence
to feel its gentle beating.
We forget they’ve roamed land and sea. All four corners,
before drawn. Touching places never to be seen. Reaching
to the edge of their extinction.
Heady stuff when you can’t grasp
earth or water.
It must have been while night seeped up the back slopes
of the Whetstones. Hearing leaves take a breath and steps
unseen but true. Learning to turn face away
from the howling and point ear
into their voice. Baring stillness
and another lesson.