Wind Swept

The winds
blow even
when I ask them to stop
churning up the waters
within my heart
leaving behind traces of their path where they got caught
up in the past tracing
the journey
looking back I can instantly see how far
from the shore I have ventured

** This post is part of the Monochrome Madness challenge put together each week by Leanne Cole. Please check out the always impressive gallery HERE.

You know it is still springtime here as long as the winds blow fiercely. Just last week they died down and the fog now rolls in in the evening and stays through the morning blanketing the coast. Wind is a wild, unrelenting presence I can’t ignore. I’ve grown to enjoy it more as I’ve grown older. There is something magical about being moved by something I can’t actually see.


  1. The first five lines of this poem entranced me, Carrie. I read them several times. And the last line of your prose captured what I’ve sometimes felt in the wind but have never expressed. You have such insight into and appreciation of the world we inhabit.

    1. Thank you for saying so, Janet. Really, it means so much. I appreciate the opportunity to see what I get to see so regularly. Noticing the connection makes me feel like I am being sincere with the experience!

  2. “There is something magical about being moved by something I can’t actually see”
    Carrie, i love that thought

  3. A lovely picture and a beautiful poem, Carrie. πŸ™‚ I’ve always quite enjoyed the wind – as long as it isn’t too cold! Our winter north wind, blowing straight down from the arctic, is the type of weather you just stay inside to avoid.

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