Listen, The Wind

Listen, the wind,

The winter wind as it sweeps across the snow.

In the Sand Hills, it rustles the brown grasses and their bent stems

etch a tiny pattern.

When the wind blows in the Sand Hills, few there are to hear it pass.

Yet the wind sweeps on, ever on its ancient quest.

It rattles the yucca pods.

It stirs the prairie grass.

In sweet melodic cadence, it hums its lullaby of old;

but there is no one listening.

the sleeping giants of the earth stir not.

The winter winds which cry "Awaken"

Go unheeded on their way.

Listen now to the wind, the wind of spring.

Does it not speak of new life, of things to come, of renewed hope?

With gentle hands the wind of spring caresses the turgid breasts of a gravid earth.

And all across the Sand Hills the wind carries new sounds, sounds of life

The bawl of a newborn calf,

The quack of nesting mallards on the Sand Hills lakes,

the whimper of the coyote whelp,

The curlew's lonely cry.

The soapweed sends forth its snow plume.

By the pond a skull and rib cage lay whitening.

A patch of hair in the sand.

Life goes on.

Listen now to the wind, the wind of summer as it sweeps across the Sand Hill's verdant slopes.

It carries the aroma of new mown hay, and the cows in the hills savor

its fragrance while their calves doze in the sun.

All God's little creatures, earth's cupboard at their door.

Fat and sleek, with bellies filled --

No more the hunger pangs of winter;

No more the sting of winter's snow.

....Only the winds know differently.

Listen to the winds of autumn.

Do they not seem to carry a warning cry as they sweep

the colored leaves into the blowout; as they stir the Sand Hills grass;

as they vent their fury on the stacks that dot the meadow's edge?

The dust of trailing cattle is carried on a vagrant wind,

and wedges of geese plow their furrows through the sky.

The winds continue on, ever on their ancient quest.

The winds are now troubled winds as they ruffle the feathery contrails in the skies.

When the wind blows in the Sand Hills,

Ah, that all the world could share this joy of simple living.

When the wind blows in the Sand Hills,

Ah, that all the world could stop

 .....and listen.

Poem written by Dr. Vernon E. Johnson, now retired and living in Mesa, AZ

Dr. Johnson is the author of the book "Are You Busy, Doc?".  

More of his wonderful poems can be found there.