Tears in the Wind
Last night under the moonless, star-clouded heavens I felt your
tears in the wind that blew across the desert like a furnace on my
sunbaked skin. My rust-colored horse picked her way absentmindedly
through the fragrant sagebrush that once held you as enthralled as
I to this beautiful harsh landscape. I guided my mare to a narrow
pathway and gave her control as we climbed the steep switchbacks
out of the deep ravine to the barren mesa. Taking the kerchief
from around my neck, I wiped the sweat from my face and took a
swallow of water from the canteen hanging from the saddlehorn.
I thought about the last time we were together and how we tried to
stretch 24 hours into an eternity. But the inevitable had arrived
and I remember your reaction when I told you it was time for me to
leave. You said nothing, you simply stared straight ahead then
covered your haunting eyes with your hands. No tears were shed,
but when you lowered your trembling hands from your face, your
eyes betrayed the pains of a thousand goodbyes. I held you in my
arms, tenderly brushed your lips with mine, gave you my heart for
safekeeping and vanished out of your life.
No tears were shed then, but here, alone with my horse and the
hidden denizens of the desert night, I look up at Orion, our
favorite constellation; I smell the sweet desert sagebrush, our
favorite perfume; I choke back the sobbing loneliness in my soul
and feel your tears on the wind.
© Skya Wode
21 August 1997
