The Year of the Wind

Chalice Rocket by Peg Green

Thinking I would meditate
on the coming of the New Year
I went outside to sit.

What goals do I have?
I planned to ask.
What do I need to bring to an end
and what do I need to begin?
The usual human constructs.

I believed that if I sat there
long enough, quietly,
surely the answers would arrive.

But when I opened the door
there was a great roaring and waving
high up in the pines:

the North Wind beckoned.

It was stripping the last dead leaves
from the branches of the oaks
and when one landed on my foot
I found I was no match
for that kind of invitation.

Into the cold rushing air I went
seeing how pine needles and leaves
twigs and branches
rolled and somersaulted
before the wind.

The air was fiercely clean
and the sky glittered blue
through the bare branches of the oaks.

In one place on the trail
I heard a loud bang
and looking for the source of the noise
I saw an old chicken coop
black with decay
turn over sideways and fall down.

The wind rushed on, triumphant.

In another place a rotten tree
was lying across the trail
no doubt blown down in the night.

It was already home to
fungi and insects, lichen and moss
the one become many in time

and I remembered another
wind I had known long ago
one I was lucky to survive.

It lifted the roof from a bank in town
carried it for miles
and then set it down on a barn.

And suddenly I knew
from the heart of the wind
what we must do in the coming year:

Clear out all that detritus
the old debris, the old junk
clear it out so light can shine in

Tear down decaying structures
overturn what doesn’t work
blow the roof right off if we have to.

Blow over what is rotten
let it fall down
let its remains nourish new life.

If we will do this
healing can begin
so let this be the Year of the Wind.

Blessed be.