When the Wind Comes Rolling Down


The wind comes rolling down from the mountain and waves crash in from the sea. There is an electricity in the warmth of the air, and the hills thirst for a spark. The men with their helmets sit in their stations, red rockets gassed and ready to fly. The sound of sirens brings release, not surprise. The thing promised has come; the men of action rush to meet their fate.

The wind comes rolling down from the mountain and stars fill up the night. We whisper words too heavy for our youth and call it happiness. Racing up the coast and back down again, we sneak back into sandy beds. Our parents aren’t fooled but let us think they are. They were us, and not so long ago as to have forgotten these feelings pulsing in our veins. Only later do we find it didn’t take.

The wind comes rolling down from the mountain and the seasons begin to change. You drift this way, I drift that. Out-stretched fingers graze but nothing more. Thoughts once firm begin to slip into memory; the tides take more than just the shells. I think of you less and less, and know it’s still the lion’s share. Not a sadness, an adaptation.

The wind comes rolling down from the mountain, but I’m not there to feel its pull. Instead, this wind is wild and cold, without direction or purpose. It tells of the miles between here and then as it fills the day with dark. It batters and bleats and tests the endurance of everything. Lean into it and go on: the only option.

The wind here has no name, and is colder for it. Its hardness makes me feel alive, but only because it brings thoughts of death. Another tree is thrown to the ground, roots flailing at the sky, helpless. The magic in the mountain wind is but a memory here. They say it will pass, but lately I’m not sure.

The wind comes rolling down from the mountain and the path turns out of sight. Where it leads I know not, but continue walking all the same. I chose the path, this wind. Lean and go on. Thoughts of the past come and go, the future clouds the present. This much I know: when the wind comes rolling down from the mountain, I’m home.TC mark

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