The gale furies through me,
blows a cutting cold across my mind.
Its high gusts buffet
the weariness and fatigue away
and the chill flurry of essential air
leaves me elated.

I feel empty: I could be blown high
as a wandering leaf in the tossing sky.
Rain clouds dark grey and white
scud over the wild sea;
wild horses racing,
bucking and tearing,
nature untamed.
I resist with difficulty
the vital pull
its rebellious blast makes on me.
Waves crash,
roar and thunder far out in the bay
and the cold spume blows and blusters
in my face
as the horses race to the beach
and leap the sea-wall
to reach the greensward
where I struggle to keep my balance.
I can YELL!
I can cry and shout and sing
and my voice is lost
as the clearing wind whips
around me and screams itself
to the sky above,
soaring above my high-blown
gale-forced mirth
and spinning, heady freedom.
The wind dances with my delirious spirit,
a whirling breathless exhausting energetic reel
leaving me giddy gasping for breath, refreshed, eyes streaming,
hair as unruly as the elements,
clothes like seagulls feathers
tossing and billowing around me
I am ecstatic,
energized and joyful
as the winds fury
through me, carrying my soul
skyward, seaward, windward,

free!


Copyright © Sheona McCutcheon / Celtic Nomad 2003