The Wind

by Peter Notehelfer
Ruth Armitage

Ruth Armitage

The wind
Sweeps the shore
Its fine grains of sand
Pile like drifting snow
Against the laths
Of cedar 

Tall grass
Bends down low
Across the pale marsh
Its blades bowed so as
To catch the echo
Of a wave

Like strings
Of an ancient violin
Taut with anticipation
Trembling at the touch
Of the skilled finger
On the fret

Until we whistle

4 Comments to “The Wind”

  1. whenever I see the lovely fiddler from Celtic Woman, I whistle

  2. very beautiful Peter… stunning imagery.

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