without my knowing

the weather colours the skies inside and outside my body.

it began with high clouds - broken and indecisive.

and then there was a sense of the beginnings of organization - fragmented and scalloped -but forming into something recognizable.
and sure enough the clouds climbed higher and higher and became a beautiful fragile wispy herringbone whimsy . . .

from that point on the sky was in turmoil, forming and unforming in towering grey and white massifs that passed through and over each other as if bent on getting somewhere. i saw a band of clouds form into one dark bruised mass across the sky.
the cloud-shadows lengthened, the skies grew closer. "surely this it". we took turns looking west to where the big dark clouds were forming and from where they were rapidly approaching.

the wind picked up. the leaves fluttered. branches waved and umbrellas, long abandoned on patios and decks, bent and flapped like broken-winged birds.

unforgiving, touching everything with its silvered blue silk fingers.

everything - and nothing - but the wind.

and so we sat and listened to it whistling its way through the hastily closed windows.

"i remember the day.
the heavy shower of rain is slackening into fitful pauses, renewed gusts of
wind startle it from a first lull.
i take up my instrument. idly i touch the strings, till, without my
knowing, the music borrows the mad cadence of that storm." rabindranath tagore

he knows. how easily and without my knowing, the skies inside and out exchange places.