Now and again…
by Peter Roundy
My Father didn’t like the wind,
And he said so many times,
But I never thought to ask him
Why… Or why not.
So why, then, I wonder,
Do I love the wind,
Or think I do?
I sit and watch, through a wide glass pane,
A dainty breeze stir an elephant’s ear,
A caladium, really,
And it touches my breath,
As I count IN and OUT, in a place,
Swept clear of words and numbers too,
Like a leaf landing,
Dying to be home.
Peter Roundy was raised in Andover, Massacchusetts, and has lived in Boca Raton, Florida, for the last forty years.