The Breeze

(First draft…)

Cycling along oak tree-lined ways
I lift my face to the breeze
and listen to the song the wind sings
as it brushes through the trees.

Rustling through branches, it sings
of it's journey across the seas 
to reach so far inland, tells tales 
of how it plays with the ocean waves
far away on foreign seas.

I turn my back and the breeze 
plucks my clothes, eagerly pushing past 
on its journey to the next grove of trees 
to sing again its songs for them
of the tales that it weaves.

Trees

Trees
violently waving,
flexing and bending.
Birds swing on branches.
Wind.

Sleep

Keeping me awake
overnight; how the wind howled.
Now I need some sleep.

Freedom

The season turns.
The first russet leaves,
encouraged by the wind,
make a bid for freedom.

Applause

The breeze sings its song
through the trees
while I strain my ears to hear
the tale it tells, that wins,
with a rustle of leaves,
a round of applause.

Bereft

Strong winds have all but stripped
the leaves from the cherry tree.
Like the fledgling pigeon
they have now flown free,
and I am left feeling bereft
like the bare branches of the tree.

Cycling

Cycling along with
wind and sunshine on my face;
clearing cobwebs away.

Late Brood

A pair of wood pigeons
have built their flimsy nest,
for a late brood,
in a crook of the cherry tree.

Do they not know
that soon the leaves will fall,
strong winds will blow?

And then they’ll see
it doesn’t pay to build
a flimsy nest so late
in a crook of the cherry tree.

Rosebay Willowherb

Rosebay Willowherb lines the lane,
the majestic red flower heads
turning to fluffy white beards,
ready to blow on the wind
and spread their seeds
as the year turns.

Skies

Overcast and showery skies
give way to evening sunshine,
but still the strong wind blows.

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