Wind.

Photo by Raine Nectar on Pexels.com

This is the wind, the wind in a field of corn

baked golden and heavy, heaving to the

wind’s caress, mirroring the yield and flex

of lovers moulding a nest in the corn.

These are the moonlit whispers of the old boys

weaving a course back from The Speckled Hen,

shushing themselves and chuckling as they

fold corn into tomorrow’s tabloid news.

This is tonight’s bed for the man from the north

who, searching for an answer in the shoal

of cold stars, finds myriad tomorrows

and reeling, clings like a babe to the corn.

And the sweet soil which yielded the wealth of man,

since the milk-thistle and briar held sway,

is the church to which we return as ash,

and become the wind in a field of corn.

Jill London. This adapted from the poem Wind, by James Fenton. The original is available here; https://poetryarchive.org/poem/wind/

Published by Jill London

Hi, I’m Jill, a writer and teacher living in the UK, usually behind a desk but sometimes on a sofa with a book or a film. I began writing at around age three, legibly by five, although I didn’t write any stories until I was older. Aged eleven, I began writing children’s fiction, mostly middle-grade fantasy and I’m still doing it to this day. I have had stories published online and in My Weekly magazine. The best bit about writing is when ideas pop into your head (from the writing fairy presumably?) and everything starts clipping together like a jigsaw puzzle. The worst bit? When you start to get the feeling there's a piece missing from the box...

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