Wind

All the pine trees have been shredded by your might. The smell of their death reminds me of new cars and holiday cheer. Every windshield is sticky with a mixture of rain and sap and green-brown needles. I can see you outside, dancing through the trees. I can hear you groping through the hallway, trying every doorknob, vigorously enough to leave an Indian burn on any willing wrist; swinging the door to the stairwell open and shut again.

What are you searching for? What could be hidden intermingled with her roots in the soil that you so desperately need? Do you not keep enough oxygen in your whirling limbs that you must search for more in the depths of the earth? What you find there will not sustain you.

Everything smacks of cigarette smoke and sorrow. Every road is calm and quiet like those forest roads we lost our innocence to, you and I, ringing church bells and scattering maps. I would let you take me to the ends of the earth. And you have.

Reviews

[deadeyes]

Sami - I love your personification of the wind here, and it's desperate searching, for that something it can't find, or perhaps even define. But the fascination remains, the attraction, and you can't ever lose that.