The Wind

It rained. The rain whipped itself into a serpent-like frenzy. Coming down in buckets and buckets, rivulets forming fresh rivers, the rain purified all. Before being called out by the snow. The snow dropped in clumps and clumps of strong white flakes, filling up the land in a pristine white tableau. The wind, by then, had had enough of the rain and snow's spoils, so it stepped in for a last laugh and victory dance, asserting its dominance.

The wind ravaged the land like two long years of a fast moving, overloaded freight train tearing through the tracks of a hole in my heart.

Everything rattled like the new shackles on an unrepentant prisoner, slapped around and swaying. Trees circling, crossing, cracking in a majestic dance macabre.

The wind gulped and galloped, flinging branches and trees down, crashing to the earth, with a message of indomitable force, for all to see. Only those truly protected by the Angels survived the onslaught.

Then branches combining, as if hands clapping, surging, raised to the power of the mother winds.

"We are the elementals," an echo of voices, from a whisper to a scream, proclaims the untamed wind.

And nature, nature holds us all captive, swallows us up to the realm of the  Frost Maidens and their greetings: cold and lusty. Touch us in places we'd rather not, at their mercy, with civilization left behind.

And where goes the charity and clarity of silence taken from us in the long night of the lost moon?

Whilst the twin sisters of the Frost Giants, from their lips, come the winds of runes and ruins. Breath of life, breath of death. Whatever... there is no return, just the wind's long song courting the Dark Night.

The Dark Night, the greatest mistress of illusion and the wind together, a soft heartbeat shared.

And what is that we see in the distance?

A scarecrow, framed against a tree, it's arms and legs whipping back and forth? Can it be, can it be?

"It is, it is!" the wind excitedly cries and his consort the Dark Night agrees.

The scarecrow mocks all we who are there to witness such a spectacle. Its head turns side by side and up and down, staring back at us with red eyes angrily a glow. It laughs together with the Dark Night. Great tendrils of laughter reaching out, entwining us, encircling, absorbing the less fortunate. "It lives, it lives!" says the Dark Night with such glee.

And then silence.

"But what is the illusion? What is the illusion?" the wind seems to say.

The wind whispers all quietly as the Dark Night sleeps...


Image Credit: https://www.etsy.com/sg-en/listing/571987002/pocahontas-colors-of-the-wind-acrylic