Chilly Chagrins

Sunday, February 1st, 2009 UTC

O’ inclement Wind,
you keep huffing on my pate;
ill-mannered cretin!

such Wintery, Woeful Winds;
what a Woeful, Windy Winter!
o Windy, Wintery Woe!

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Wind Blowing Past the Coming Night

Thursday, December 20th, 2007 UTC

Ah, can you feel it? The sweet and savoury scent of the Christmas wind in a generally hot place, indicating that security and love are present somewhere, unseen but waiting to be felt. You walk adrift, not controlling your own feet yet feeling that your sense of direction cannot possibly be wrong.

The trees move with the soft wind, tingling and shuddering with some delight the human race cannot know of, wishing to fly along the trail of the gust. The sound of the world seems to conspire in your favour, granting you a slight moment of omniscience and hope. Even the other people seem to be smiling, perchance with the same thought circling about your head. Your skin seems to be so glad that for a moment, while your mind is in an altered state, it commands the entire body to abandon ground and rise up to the clouds, with that almost-divine wind, unto the stars and beyond, unto a white shore in a distant planet, unto rocks and pyramids of silver glass; unto a future so bright and beautiful, that your eyes desire and see the whole frame as well. The wind has brought you peace, comfort, and hope for a bright world. Indeed, it has… Your ears hear a whole symphony of instruments resonating in perfect balance. You can feel it, you can hear it, you can see it, you can smell it, you can taste it… you can almost touch it… Good Lord, you are almost there! The wind is taking you to the place you are meant to be!! Rejoice!!!

And then you feel it…

Blast…It was a dream… nothing more.

Blast… You rose so high that you fell altogether lower.

Blast! It was a bloody dream! Nothing more!

Well, be thankful. I haven’t had that dream, yet I lie in your same hole.

Lukewarm

Thursday, December 6th, 2007 UTC

Man sat under the radiant sun one of those eternal evenings. He could not help but to feel and admire what was around him. As Zephyr swept the broad plains that lie before his sight, Man felt a burning desire; the craving to be, even though just for an instant—ephemeral as himself—, the mighty wind. The thought of wind flew across his mind evoking thoughts of times long-gone, and even those of times to come. Man imagined the past and the future merging as one in Present. Zephyr had seen the days of yore, and would live to see the death of Father Time.

Man was overwhelmed to think of things so far beyond his reach. Desperate he did cry out in distress; a cry so deep it could have made consciousness itself give a shriek. The wind proved impassible at his screams. To this, Man broke into laughter where he stood—the wind roaring around him, menacing— and thought a rather comforting thought; that, as immutable as the wind was, it was unable to feel. It could run across endless fields and shake forests rooted in ancient grounds, yet it could not take pleasure in it nor appreciate the solemnity of the dignified trees. The wind was on the skin like soft petals, yet it could not feel the tenderness caressing back.

Zephyr, with all its might, could not entertain thought; without thought, unaware of himself, Man could not possibly exist—and what business has man, then, to be the wind if the wind does not think, does not feel? Man’s craving died, gradually decomposing into lukewarm afterthoughts.

Solitude

Saturday, September 29th, 2007 UTC

An instant of peace;
The caress of zephyr comes,
reminder of life.

Haphazard Haiku

Sunday, September 16th, 2007 UTC

The wind blows wildly
in a thousand gentle tongues
as the routine dies.