Pleasant is preferable to pleasure,
as joy is to enjoyment.
A still summer morning
before the imposition of wind.
Clouds stretched thin, as if
distorted in a mirror
or simply the ground
of feeling before thought.
The mind is a wind.
It forecasts change,
a harbinger of itself.
A light breeze is best,
intermittent, sociable
like conversation that
falls still and rises upon
impulse – from where
we do not know but only
obey as a law of ourselves.
Golden grass among newer green
waves back and forth
but tends to one direction,
the prevailing weather,
the fine seed heads bent
towards the ground, like
a yearning or an old remembrance.
This is the cure of the land,
adequate to ourselves,
in spite of perturbations
it has known and we have felt.
A light breeze is best.
