Frank has given us Breeze as our theme this week.
Hubby and I both love to walk in the woods, to hear the birdsong, watch the squirrels, or listen to the breeze as it rustles the leaves in the trees.
There were several places where we could sit and do just that. Sometimes it was a picnic table set up in a clearing, but most times it was a fallen tree that was just the right height and angle for us to sit, rest our legs and let the peace and tranquility surround us.
Depending on the direction of the wind would determine what we heard. Sometimes it was the quarry mechanics, others the sheep grazing in the fields, though both were drowned out by the Eurofighters flying overhead, but after they’d gone, things settled down again and the whispering would start again.
Photo: treetops in the plantation taken March 2018 on one of our return visits.
Breeze is a lovely word for poetry. To me, it suggests kisses and caresses of Nature, tickling and brushing clouds, and the rhyming possibilities are endless.
I wrote this last year:
Can you hear the reeds
Whispering to you on the breeze,
Such a gentle melodic refrain,
It softly calls out your name.
Can you hear the call of the night
Just before dawn’s early light,
Your breath cascades in the wind,
Before the new day begins.
Can you feel the warmth of the day
From the sun’s caressing ray,
Touching you deep in your soul
Chasing out the wintry cold.
I see images in cotton wool clouds
Encasing skies in a wispy shroud,
Reach out my hands to embrace
Your dearly belovéd face.
I hear voices whisper your name,
Things will never be the same,
The hypnotic sway of the reeds
Whisks you away on the breeze.