A fulcrum of momentum,
she wraps her wings across her breast
until she spins out brave new worlds
where long necked geese rise through ruddy sunshine.
Thrumming a rustle of feathers on air,
they become a subliminal one with wind,
riding on her smug untidy currents.
Urging migration, sister wind eradicates
the gullibility of yesterday’s unmoving mellow air,
twisting the shallows of the lake
into crystallized shudders.
A rush of ice forms and forces this wild congregation
to hoist their voices, unfold their wings, and sweep circles
over the freezing wet cycle of time.
Sister wind whistles and spins
as silver and black flutter and flash
imprinting seasonal patterns,
migratory gyrations that weave feathers
through the shimmering spokes of her spirit’s fierce wheel.
Brenda Warren 2011
After spending some time watching Canadian geese rise and fall across the expanse of Benton Lake National Wildlife Refuge, I wrote down twelve words for The Sunday Whirl. Check the Whirl every Sunday for a new wordle.
This morning, I morphed the words into this piece, which at first would not come. Once wind developed into “sister wind,” the piece flowed freely.
Sister wind whistles and spins for the geese. May they journey for many centuries across the prairie potholes that dot their North American migratory routes. May water fill these potholes each spring. May they flourish and flash with sister wind, reminding us of our relationship with the earth.