A Certain Wind 

by Geraldine Ruth Pratt

Often, winds slip through the town unnoticed 

Or ignored, but a certain wind on velvet nights 

Between dim islands of the lights 

Worries anyone abroad. 

You’ve heard this wind, 

Intense and nervous, 

Running skinny fingers out, 

Pushing noisy leaves about, 

Scuffling in a barren bush, 

Throwing sand and paper down, 

Until you shy at sudden sound, 

Apprehensive of the night, 

The shadows swaying back of light. 

This wind has life. 

Its touch is warm. 

You love its breath upon your face. 

The buffeting is like embrace. 

An urgency is in the wind. 

It has no words for you to share, 

But voices come from everywhere: 

The restless sounds about the earth, 

The whistling eaves, 

And talk of leaves, 

And higher yet until the stream 

Of silver winds 

Awash between you and the stars  

Is some compelling pull from earth. 

Something is there. 

Only the velvet of the night, 

Only the shadows back of light, 

And the touch of a certain wind in flight.