The Whispering of the Wind

His shadow falls

I stand at the ancient window
as the wind blows down 
from the mountains of the moon
starlight is gently etched 
amongst the trembling leaves

Constant shifts in perception 
shatter the mirror to splinters
and in this magic space he disappears
in the frozen silence 
it seems he fades forever

It feels a gentle loss
the precious moments held tightly in my hand
the bracken cracks under his feet
the mirror is down
the reflection is gone

Yet this is a moment that never ends
waves of hills flow towards the horizon
his shadow falls 
across the window
then turning slowly he walks away

Leaving the touch of winter in my soul
and the whispering of the wind

© Ann Bagnall

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