Wind speed

Leaves fluttering in autumn breezes speak of hidden travellers around us. Branches bending, flowing, giving way before imposed forces. Trees standing firm, pliable but unyielding. The moving and the unmoved, the refugee fleeing before the storm and the rock upon which they are dashed.
Washing on the line, drying. Clothes fluttering, swaying, flapping; bright colours flashing. Wind carrying moisture away; warmth, air and time doing their work unasked and unthanked. Sunlight shining down, finishing the job of cleaning, bleaching stains away. Our many-textured, varicoloured clothes, fabric wrappings, returning to us refreshed.
Rubbish on the street – crisp packets, magazine pages, plastic bottles – scurrying, rattling along, busy on their way somewhere, anywhere, away from the bins. Reflective foil sparkling as it is tossed on the wind. Things discarded but with their own beauty, their own joy.
Above, clouds rush along. White puffs speeding across the sky. Behind them, grey clouds, heavy with rain, the ground ready for the cleansing, refreshing shower.
But, for now, the sun still shines down on the leaves, the washing, the rubbish and me. Travelling together before the wind.

pax et bonum

Article posted at 5:27pm on 13 September 2004
Category: Dreaming, General