Just not quite yet though.

Just not quite yet though.

The wind is a wanderer

A choir of many voices

Whispering through the silence

Of long cold nights

Blowing over land and sea

Borrowing the stories of lovers

As it slips between the pages

Of their romance

Displacing the air with an undercurrent

Of subtle difference

The tingle on the skin

The movement of the clouds

Capturing the nuance

Of a moment

Holding it in its grasp

To be released unharmed

On the farther side

Of moonlight

Where lamplights hiss

In jaundiced surprise

At the breath of indifference

Carried in the bluster

Of a restless squall

That never deigns to stop

Or wonder at its own power

To transform

Does it even know

How to slow

And show

In time for tea and sympathy

Or is it just content to blow

Until it falls

Into the doldrums

Feeling no pressure but to wait,

Breathlessly,

For the inevitability

Of its revival.