#47 The Whistling Wind of the Night

The whistling winds of no relent, they blow and blow to a changing chime. They have their own rhythm and time. They churn up the sea into colours of black, blue and brown – almost an inverse of the rainbow. They cut through everywhere breathing like a dragon with a deep, deep throat of vengeance. It batters at the certainty of stone and it lashes the cliffs sending venomous salt laden surf to the far distance of taste. It will ask questions of every crevice.

Are these winds of tonight angry?

Can there be no satisfaction for their anger?

How many doors and windows of memory will it open while I lay here awake?

It reminds me to feel blessed with my comforts from within and the blessings that one bestowed on me from a high. It is now infolding its heart in the invisible dance of circles, spirals and waves? Is this the dance of my spirits from outside? If so, welcome them home and inside to a shelter of joy, love and my music and my soft mellow thoughts of now as I drift off to sleep to the lullaby of the whistling wind.

Blow softly my whistling wind of the night.

The Mindful Farmer