Gone the wind

A silence
spills soaks up the sound
of soughing trees.

Where did the wind go with its ranting
threads of voice wolf-cried ululations
roaring chimneys keyhole-whistles?

Raced over the hill and far away

until a distant dog bells
echoing the long goodbye.


For the dverse prompt.

Sun sinks through broken and bruised
purple cloud, pink flushed, and the grey
of day flames in riots of fierce light.

Water rises through grass roots,
trees bow in wind’s embrace,
yet perched crow’s-nest high,
swaying with the storm’s wings,
a thrush still sings.