Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Northerly Wind

16 October 2006, 10:59 PM

There’s an awful lot of dialogue, waiting
for my hair to grow, waiting
for falling snow in September.

It’s October now- the snow is closer
than it was. But I’ve been waiting
for a month or longer- since the Spring,
if I’m honest. I’ve been waiting
since the flurries ceased to fall last year-
waiting with many a sigh and silver tear.

There’s not much happiness
in waiting. I find sadness, solitude,
sometimes silliness, though not much
joy. I’m just tired, and eager for the wind
to change. So strange that I should
long again for home the way it was-
the way it killed me from the inside out,
unrelentingly and without apology.

The nights are harder than the days
sometimes. I think I’ll never see the end
of my own wants, my own thoughts beaten
bloody by the too long Northerly Wind.

I had come to see in her a friend.
I’d say she’ll find vindication in the end,
revealed for what she is: mighty
river bellowing against tender reeds,
teaching them to stand up strong and tall
against her gracious, brutal current.

I wonder, should she ever cease to flow,
if the rushes then will know how to stand
with nothing left to brace themselves against.

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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