Wind Sounds

Braced against the gusting air,
Atop a rugged, rocky spine,
I stand alone and downward stare
At foothills decked in mountain pine.

I hear no sounds except this one,
The roar of wind against my ears.
A voice that urges me to run,
To put aside my daily fears.

I drop my inhibitions there,
Pump my elbows, quicken stride.
Running now, at one with air,
Down the trail where breezes slide.

Could I but close my eyes and soar,
Willing flight, as in a dream.
I'd leap into that constant roar,
And slowly float, as in a stream.

Purple clouds now turning gray,
Chill air rushing, gushing past,
Shadows lengthen, slink away.
Fantasies of flight don't last.

Stopping now, the trail's too dim.
Winded by my phantom flight,
Looking down from windswept rim,
I spy the city's halo light.

Gazing up at night's first stars,
I wonder if there's life out there,
Are there places, maybe Mars,
Where blows another wind so fair?

Tom Scanlan