Here is a poem about the actual wind, the winds of history, and yes, the wind of God. I’m talking about forces that, though involving human beings, are beyond our control to stop. We all have these in life. It’s a scary place to be, but it can make room for good things as well. I’m not talking about evil exactly, but it may look like misfortune. I suppose it’s just a restatement of the saying that “it is an ill wind that blows nobody no good.”

To Windward

The wind is up now, high and singing

In the sighing of swaying trees,

No mere breeze, but something brave,

Something brilliant with destruction, a seeming demon,

And yet perhaps kindly, kingly, kindling life

Even as it strews its own chaotic strangeness

Across the world that it has always shaped.

Against its unrelenting roar

We rave and rage,

Lamenting lost things felled by it in their fullness,

Calling it an enemy, a foe, a foul fiend,

A thing to be feared

For its loud voice and unsparing speed.

Yet there is a need for wildness,

A time for truth untethered to timid form and custom,

A place for positive power,

For might unmixed with malice, fit for purpose,

Though still unbound, unbridled, not broken

Or gentled to the ways of humanity’s brief will.

It forces us to face it

With neither fear nor favour,

And when we meet it,

Our mortality is unmade for a time,

Uncovered as its weakness wilts and is whirled away

By the shining strength which will soon come

To stand surely, purely in its place.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit smfeir.substack.com