Oh how the wind can howl through the canyons.  The sound of it drowns out all else.  The force of it rips your breath from your lungs and threatens to knock you over.  The chill of it dashes through, slamming against your very bones.

And yet, life of all kinds still flourishes.  Roots cling deep within the soil, where all is calm, and hold tight against the trashing wind.  Turmoil reigns above and tranquility below.

The wind will pass as it always does and the flowers will remain.

change is coming

The leaves whispered restlessly outside his window, disturbing the peacefulness of his slumber, and he propped open an eye with an askance glare for their daring intrusion.  The dream had already slipped from his grasp except for the distinct impression that it had been good.  The hour was still too early to see the leaves or even the branches they hung from and he closed his eye again with a disappointed sigh.  Dawn would not arrive for at least two hours but he had little hope of reclaiming the interrupted dream, “What are you going on about now?”

Though they continued to converse in hushed tones, the trees did not answer.  He attempted to push their murmurings and his own curiosity about what had set them astir away by rolling away from the window and throwing an arm over his head.  It was futile and he knew it.  After a quick count of ten, he rose to a sitting position and turned back toward the window to see if his eyes could perceive anything of value from the darkness beyond.

No wind accompanied the rustling of the branches so either a creature was clambering about the giant oak or the tree was truly talking to its wooden brethren.  Either was possible but the level of noise made it more likely that he was eavesdropping on the forest.  There was more than one tree in motion.

Finding his feet, he stepped to the window and leaned against the sill.  Crisp air greeted him.  His eyes continued to adjust but weren’t yet of much use.  His ears remained attentive, and with his mind now fully awake, he confirmed it was more than one tree quivering.  The sound was haunting and beautiful at the same time.

Just as dawn hinted at its coming arrival by warming the eastern horizon, the conversation came to an abrupt halt.  The trees returned to their stoic silence and he was left wondering what was so important the forest had needed to spring into action in the middle of the night.  It didn’t take much thought to come to a likely conclusion.  “Change,” he spoke to the morning.  “Change is coming.”

He had felt a tingling itch in his mind for several days.  Something was amiss in his hidden world and soon the cause would reveal itself.  Unhurried by the threat, or promise, of the coming days, he stayed at the window to watch the day unfurl.  The light stretched from the mountains at the edge of his vision to the tops of the trees that had pulled him from his slumber.  The sky spoke its own salutations in vibrant blue hues.  He sighed with contentment at the wonder of it all.


A question from Matticus:  Having recently published The Erratic Sun, I was feeling some pressure (though that isn’t quite the right word) to write something new… something of my own to publish.  I sat down and this came out.  What do you think?  Is it done, as is?  Or, is this just the start that I should turn into a full novel and publish?


the wind

The wind stirs the demons in my heart and they howl in protest before flying free of my body.  Set in motion, they latch on and leach happiness from those closest to me.  I can see them sucking greedily but am powerless to do anything but watch them destroy the ones I love.

It’s devastating, yes, but it is also a relief.  These vampires live within me all the time and the wind that rips them from my flesh is the only solace I get.  My life is ruled by such dualities.  Everything is a mixture of pleasure and pain.

Soon enough the wind will calm and my body will call back its monsters, where they will resume their gnawing and gnashing.  That too will be both agony and relief.  The pain is always nearly unbearable, but when the beasts are within me I do have the pleasure of seeing my loved ones happy again.

Perhaps there is a way I may be rid of these parasites.  Perhaps they are a burden I alone am supposed to carry.

I suspect the truth will be revealed to me in time but for now I wait at the mercy and pleasure of the wind.  If you must be near me presently, I apologize for the drain you will inevitably feel, and offer the only condolence I know: they haven’t killed anyone yet.

Hear The Song

Image Credit: Bushnell

A gentle breeze sets the leaves whispering and bends the bows closer to hear their secrets, but the whistling rustle holds no truths beyond the ones they’ve heard countless times before.  Corresponding actions and routines transpire throughout the shaded forest, from the ears perking to tall grasses stirring.  The wind is the fortune-teller of the wild places, bringing tidings to those who care to listen, and those who know best always care to listen.

A raised snout follows the perked ears to taste the air and confirm the spreading rumor: night is coming.  Padded feet tread softly on well-worn paths to the singing rock, where the head will tilt again and raised voice will call to brothers and sisters in celebration of the coming hunts.  That running of brotherhood and survival is still some hours away, though, which is fine because the rock always takes time to climb.  Its layered granite can shed and splinter under paws scrambling for purchase.

A winged neighbor cries as it swoops low overhead, angry over being trespassed against, and then perches out of reach of snapping jaws to continue its admonishments.  This too is routine, and while not completely ignorable, is easily pushed from racing thoughts as the path curves to rockier terrain.  The squawks quiet and then disappear altogether behind heavier pants and the high pressure of the evening breeze sweeping across open land.  Small creatures scurry to safety, under rocks and into holes, as the singing rock comes into view.

A deep orange spreads from the edge of the world as the fiery orb of light slips from view.  The time is nearly right.  As purple caresses the edge of the color splashed heavens and then devours the sky, the breeze quiets and the forest below revels in the momentary silence and in anticipation of what is to come.  Padded feet carefully scale the ancestral trail and emerge on the smooth overlook.  The voice sounds immediately in songs of freedom and wildness, and the brothers and sisters respond in echoing fashion until the whole valley vibrates in beauty.

winter morning battle

In the low pre-dawn light of the street lamps, it was the noise that caught my attention rather than the movement.  An unwanted early wind brought them to life and, crab-like, the sharp edges clacking and crackling, the dead leaves skittered across the chilled concrete.  My head snapped to the sound and it took a moment to find the culprit.  The tingle down my spine indicated my thoughts had drifted away from reality.

The breeze seemed too slight for animation, but then what could have sent the leaves stalking along my path?  There must have been a source, and my mind immediately saw the tiny devils hidden below the parched shells.  Their red eyes cut through the darkness and the distance and my pace quickened to get me safely away from their clutching gaze.  The wind thwarted my efforts and pushed my tormentors behind me in time to my steps.

I tracked their progress, despite the contorted pain of swiveling my head around, to ensure they did not catch me off guard.  They stayed at bay, but, regardless, I was still assaulted by the cold, dry, air that set my skin to crawling and ravished my hands in nips and bites.  I wrung them to fling the snapping demons from my exposed flesh, but nothing could shake them loose.  They had latched on completely, their fangs gnashing down to the bone.

A primal scream bubbled below the surface, and I longed to release it into the echoing alleyway and sprint wildly into the darkness.  I longed to free myself from the last tenuous hold of sanity and relinquish my thoughts and actions to the madness within.  The wind whispered urgencies to give in to my desire.  The shadows reached for me with welcoming embraces.  The stars laughed like always.

One truth kept me tethered, kept me from washing away to complete insanity, and allowed me to safely navigate the morning.  I have always abhorred the wind.  It is my greatest enemy, and I refused to let my nemesis win.  I let the dry demons feast on my hands and the devil leaves chase behind me and I strode forward refusing to deviate from my course.