The West Wind

I love the west wind.
I can smell the rain off the great divide.
I can taste a bit of Nebraska, as it blows out to the sea.
It draws me to turn my face, to the setting sun,
and see myself on some snow capped mountain.

I would fly with this, the west wind, winging out onto the sea.
I am called to look upon the distance,
to hear depths unsounded within me.
It is this, the west wind, that calls me to be free.

I would walk the long trail, to the distant mountain valleys.
I would drink deep of clear unspoiled streams.
I would stack the stones for the lonesome gods,
and they would guide me to their homes.

Let me hunt among the deep trees, unfettered through the wood.
I would taste the heartsblood of my kill, dance wild with the wolves.
It is the west wind, the calling rock, the turning of the bend.
It brings me back, that forest track, winding in my mind.
I love the west wind.
I can taste the rain off the great divide.