As I sit here tonight it’s blowing half a gale outside. It is the proverbial, “dark and stormy night.” The sound of wind is like a time machine. It takes me to places where the scent of salt air and the motion of a well found sloop is all the intoxicant I ever need. The melodies I have heard in the rigging are strongly played notes in harmony with all my better impulses. No other instrument can derive such beautiful music from simple silence set in motion.
Inside Wind
by Chris Kleinfelter
The sails, all curves
And quiet effectiveness,
Bend to their work
With silent grace.
Taut fabric molded by
Firm pressures, not seen
By sailor’s eyes, are felt
Inside where the wind
Sings in clear high notes.
Canvas cut-outs, etched in
Stillness against blue sky,
Move across the shoreline.
Silent shadows fly.
Ancient wings beating to
Ancient rhythms caught
By sailor’s ears, are felt
Inside where the wind
Is never at rest.
Bright magic moves
Enchanted phantoms as white witches spread
Their spell-bound symmetry:
And mariners unfurl
The naked sails, touched
By sailor’s hands,
Inside, where the wind
Never dies.
