The Wind Is Blowing

The sun is sinking westerly but slowly
And glinting flecks of gold upon the world;
It filters through the leaves, slanting and glowing;
The birds are silent, and the wind is blowing.

A rainbow softly shimmers through the splashes
Of the small stream that ambles by this place;
The only song’s this one I’m singing, darling;
The birds are silent, and the wind is blowing.

We loved and laughed, our hearts more keen with knowing
That fate finds warriors fastest, life burns bright:
Blue woad and horse-piss hair, you’d send them running —
Harp-spells and chariot-high, I’d kill with cunning.

We spoke of Summerland, our hopes still growing —
As distant as an echoed laugh uphill;
I hid my salt-sharp eyes while we lay sunning,
Sure you’d step first, and not wait for my loving.

This hillside kens the sunset and the valley;
I am alone, and yet I am not lonely;
All things have beauty, for my love is coming;
The birds are silent, and the wind is blowing.

[Adele Gardner is currently painting portals in her hall and building a closet TARDIS.  Home wouldn’t be complete without five cats, five birds, a harpsichord, and two friendly guitars.  She’s had poems and stories in Goblin FruitStrange HorizonsDaily Science FictionSybil’s GarageThe Leading EdgeMythic DeliriumMindFlights, and Star*Line, among others.  She chaired the 2012 Rhysling Anthology.  Her first poetry collection, Dreaming of Days in Astophel, is available from Sam’s Dot Publishing.  Please note: most of this occurred under her previous byline, Lyn C. A. Gardner.]

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