No Master


“Do you serve a master?”

I asked the wind,

which blew in the cold

from the northeast.

Late season snow

and deep cold,

lasting more than winter.


“You do not answer me.”

the wind did not speak,


it drifted in more snow

around my door

and over the eaves of the roof.


“I guess, if you do

serve a master,

then it must be the Earth.”

The wind just blew.

In the spaces

between the gusts,

the silence of the night

was almost oppressive.


Perhaps that was just my mind,

long worn weary of winter.

The absence of the winter wind

meant neither freedom,

nor oppression.

Again it howled.


“Are you free, then?

to blow snow in the cold

of winter’s heart.

To raise waves

and blast the coastlines

of the world

as you see fit?

When you move the dunes

of the great deserts

and hide a thousand years

with a single breath,

is that you

and your will alone?”


The house shuddered

and groaned,

as another great gust of wind

buffeted around us.

I wondered at the force

and the violence,

and how,

even in the night

of darkest January,

I knew that spring would come.


“Are you free?”

I asked again.

No answer,

but the wind continued

as if it knew no master,

and that was enough for me.



HG – 2022

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