summer lament

Our bonfires burned hot and high and turned to embers that still sparked the next morning, we were thorough in collecting every piece of driftwood, every twig, every fallen log. Sometimes we wished for only the sound of the wind rattling through the trees, even the sound of the fire was too loud, too much, we poured buckets of water over the flames and listened to the quick boil and then nothing but branches moving in the wind. The wind was a constant companion but so changeable in its moods: here, gentle, there, a howl of agony, and still I fear the wind, do not know if it is cruel or kind.

There are nights now when I awaken, the moon is arisen, the stars move across the sky, and the wind reminds me of a thousand promises, all broken. For the wind has said to me: I told you all my secrets, but you were young and could not understand. The wind has said to me: I told you all my secrets, and you were grown, and could not hear. The wind has said to me: I told you all my secrets, but that was so very long ago and you have forgotten, forgotten them all. And it is midnight and the grasses rustle and I know there were words and promises, but I cannot remember what they were, and I am sorry.