Sweet Nothings

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“The earth has music for those who listen.”  [George Santayana]

The wind talks to me. Everyday at the same time, twilight, he makes an appearance. The sun lowers on the horizon, the day cools, and he wakes from his nap. Some days he whips through the backyard taking me in his arms, and we waltz across the brittle grass. After our sashay he spirals away, into the mimosa tree murmuring sweet nothings among the laden branches. The tiny pink blossoms cascade like snow at his feet. He retrieves them, tosses them skyward where they meander in his updraft, and finally settle like old friends into my hair.

On other evenings he catches me off guard. Suddenly he’s there by my side, lifts a tendril of hair, tucks it behind my ear, whispers my name, and scampers off to entice the songbirds with his easy currents, allowing them to drift in his wake with little effort. They sing him their thanks.

On the evenings he doesn’t visit, when the air is heavy and still, when the effort to rise is hampered by the accumulated heat of the day, I miss him. I listen, and long for his approach.

the wind
arrives in stealth
sweeps me off my feet

For the Ligo-Haibun Challenge presided over by Pirate, Penny and Nightlake. Click on any link to read the entries, or better yet, submit your own.

Thanks for reading!
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17 thoughts on “Sweet Nothings

  1. Very creative take on this prompt, giving the wind these characteristics, to interact and dance with the wind. Excellent!

  2. I enjoyed the romance of this piece. I could feel every breath spoken with that of an untame lover.
    And knowing truth, that we could never, nor want to ever, change the wind.

    Perfect for the photo. Enchanting.

    Thank you for your visit.

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