Rush of Wind

Rush of Wind
When the wind comes sweeping down the vale

Russling leaf and limb 

Swirling about the filed of flowers

And wheat tops tall and thin,

I often stand in awe of intangible touch

The wind I cannot see

But how it seems to rush
The sleepy little vale seems to come alive

As the wind keeps rushing

An impression of color sweeps by,

And as a moving canvas

The colors bleed and blend;

A moving Monet, copied by the wind.
O’Prunty ©

5/27/15

Tags: Free verse, life, metaphor, nature, poem, poetry, symbolic