The Wind

I felt it on the way, always:
a still heavy silence. Like the wind
itself, I held my breath, tensed
as if waiting for a lover.

Then, gently at first, the heated air
brushed my body, singled out my
my fringe, caressed my bare arms
and suddenly, I trembled.

I was always alone – not everyone
welcomed the wind, its strong gusts
scraping the plains of dirt and dust,
laying the bush in its fiery embrace.

People braved themselves for violence,
damage to their farms, sharp migraines,
but I responded to its fierceness
and at night, let it blow through me, hot.

I folded myself into its reaching arms
and flew high, around the earth,
whirling like dancers – wild, sublime,
moving without knowing, in a trance,

being everywhere, every thing at once,
omnipotent. Until, without warning.
everything suddenly died. The wind dropped
and I returned, dry, abandoned

to a world of havoc, uprooted trees,
the battered fields smouldering brown,
and my bruised body aground,
wounded, unproud.