Feathered fingers

I heard the wind stirring from its rest last night

gently rattling the windows with feathered fingers.

             This morning it was awakening, strengthening

I know because it called

rushing round the corner of the house

noisily caressing the chimney pot.

         Today it’s coming from the cold northwest

unusual for August

stronger all the time

intensity waxes then wanes.

It does not come alone

the rain is harsh

needles sharp and short

bright sun patches

on grass which glows.

It stops

the sounds all die

a tangible calm.

I breathe a sigh

and think of those whose enemy is wind

when I enjoy this elemental force

of energy untamed.