I can't sleep…
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go,
not one lasts.
~ Carl Sandburg, 1878-1967.
Credits: Image Source: Matt @ GreenKayak73 at Senoia, Georgia. Quote: In the Meantime
I lift my head from my reading.
To watch. To listen. To inhale.
High winds from the northwest swaying the tall pines. The gusts rustling the branches. The tree tops whistling. The sweet smell of tree resin drifting over the fence from the neighbor’s pruning. It was yesterday, Sunday afternoon. I was lounging in the backyard. Licking my wounds from my long run. Tucked under a comforter…seeking protection against chilling 20 mph winds. I put Knausgaard down and start thumbing through blog posts. “Wind” synchronicity switches on.
First Thomas Merton: “No writing on the solitary, meditative dimensions of life can say anything that has not already been said better by the wind in the pine trees.”
Then Cat Stevens with “The Wind“: “…listen to the wind…To the wind of my soul…Where I’ll end up well I think, Only God really knows…”