I am unknown to you, here,
in the high winds, kiting.
Aloft, hiding,
in plain view,
my rushing whisper
drifts downward
and caresses your ear,
with an icy truth.
You shudder against
memories of the blood,
warnings of wise men,
the rattle of shamans,
who cast their knuckles
and predict the freeze
in its slow coming.
Your own mother warned
against the whispering wind
glowering, tsk tsk, child,
desist your youthful wish to
intuit ripples of crypticism
hidden deep and twisting within
the rolling clouds, threatening
to pull you inward, then fully in.
You were born many ages too late.
Yet, the wheel still turns
and I hope those snickering Fates
have enjoyed their games.
On the next turn, my dear,
I will meet you at the mountain
and share what the wind
once lustfully whispered
‘gainst my own ears.
But, in this new age
I am unknown to you,
still far away,
and flying
…as we, the winged,
were meant to do.
For now, do not give in
to these earthly winters,
binding, ‘ever-forgetting
…soon, again,
sun-fractured glimmers
shine from the razor tips
of ascending ice crystals,
honored to know your wake
and eager to know you.
©️ CG Tenpenny, 2023.
