A persistent wind, agitating dust;
careless intruder, unwelcome entry.
Full of bravado, a blustering gust;
unsettling a layer of certainty.
A persistent wind, feeding fuel to fire;
craving attention and demanding note.
Temperamental breeze, a funeral pyre;
no whimsy whistle works as antidote.
A persistent wind, a buffering blow;
cuts across the bow and ruffles feathers.
Strips a tree of foliage and Autumn’s glow;
this resistant fiend smites all endeavours.
. An ill-wind, the likes we all must suffer;
. should be endured with brunt or buffer.
© Tim Grace, 17 January 2013
To the reader: A cutting breeze strips a day of comfort. Each of the senses responds with agitation. In defence, we can either face the challenge or turn our back. To face the challenge requires head-on resistance; a regardless attitude that stiffens to the breeze. Turning-the-back is an obstinate show of defiance. Should we brunt or buffer? Somewhere between passive and aggressive there’s an appropriate response… ‘the answer is blowing in the wind’.
To the poet: It wasn’t until I began writing ‘to the reader’ that I realised I had written a sonnet describing Bob Dylan… a persistent wind. He arrived in the early 1960s on a gust of rising social awareness; and decades-on, he’s still shaking trees and rustling leaves. Now identified, I re-read the sonnet with the brusk-breeze personified; I have faced the wind.