Wind Shifting Change

Last night as I tiredly treaded my usual round checking the locked doors I was hit by a sudden unnanounced gust of wind and a sudden realization; A change. The wind was coming the wrong way. Since I arrived a little over a month ago the wind's come from the east. A cold, blustery, steady east wind. But last night a change noticed by some; noticed by me. The vanguard heralding the coming day.

This morning the flag flickers and dances upon it's pole, upon it's perch, precariously positioned upon the top of Old Main.

The west wind has brought the sunshine.
The west wind has brought spring.

And the birds are singing! So loudly in the warm air above the rapidly retreating snow does their melodic chorus pierce the silence. I wonder if there is any correlation between the brightness of the shine and the sweetness of the song? For today they both seem stronger than the day passed.

Spring has sprung
the time has come
'neath shorts bright legs revealed.

The snow retreats
beneath bare feet
drowned out midst shouts and squeals.

Bird song fills,
with twists and trills,
the warm and golden air.

And in plain sight,
beneath the light,
we once more leave our lair.

The west wind brings more that spring though. It brings thoughts unbidden of the land that awaits me, the land I love, beyond the curvature of all I can see, towards the descending drift of the dancing dome, the star we call Sun, that is Sol. I miss the green rainsoaked forests of my homeland, the raven's quork, the squirrel's chatter, and the strong, silent presence of the massive sentinel trees. I do not mean or intend to diminish this land when I say I love that land. Perhaps it's just that I have a longer relationship there. Your first love always has a special place in your heart. I can say now that I want to be there. I want to live in that land that I love. More than friends and family, house or home, it has been as it is and always will be, the land that I love. I feel blessed and honoured with the privilege of walking those sacred places, more so than any church or man-made structure. More than anything else I know, I know I feel inside drawn back to the forest; the dark foreboding forest, the dripping fertile forest, the delight filled forest,a place of life which is a place of death. I mystical, magical reality. It is how I feel.

The west wind blows,
and with it spring.
While on the horizon the sun's rising.

In pinks and yellows
it paints the sky
as swiftly swooping birds spin by.