an old friend

Photo by Michael Hystead on Unsplash

I remember the wind
conducting a soothing symphony
rustling leaves
of huge mango trees
as we waited with breath bated
coconut frond torches
in hand
eyes rubbed, sleep banished
in the dark just before dawn
every tree had a name back then
they were part of our gang

to this day remembered
when our older selves meet
and look beyond our yard
the trees long gone now

the wind turns up
tad subdued now
we mourn our loss in silence

I remember the wind
blowing across the fields
on a hot summer day
cooling bodies and tempers
when the fish would not bite
and on other days bring
a spring to our step
on the way back home
our bags full with a decent catch

The patterns it drew on the water
helped by the sun
the ripples it made on the water
erasing each pattern, creating a new one
an endless cycle of creation

the wind turns up
when we visit this sacred ground
whispering lessons
taught many moons ago
by my father and his gang of four