How refreshing is the breeze which now fans my forehead! — it seems like the sweet breath of a guardian Angel. ~Charles Lanman, “Musings,” 1840
Spooky wild and gusty; swirling dervishes of rattling leaves race by, fleeing the windflung deadwood that cracks and thumps behind. ~David J. Beard (1947–2016), @Raqhun tweet, 2009
The wind blew — not up the road or down it, though that’s bad enough, but sheer across it, sending the rain slanting down like the lines they used to rule in the copybooks at school… ~Charles Dickens, The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, 1836
The wind shows us how close to the edge we are. ~Joan Didion, “Los Angeles Notebook,” Slouching Towards Bethlehem, 1968
The substance of the winds is too thin for human eyes, their written language is too difficult for human minds, and their spoken language mostly too faint for the ears. ~John Muir (1838–1914), A Thousand-Mile Walk To the Gulf, 1916
I’m going to imagine that I’m the wind that is blowing up there in those tree-tops. When I get tired of the trees I’ll imagine I’m gently waving down here in the ferns — and then I’ll fly over to Mrs. Lynde’s garden and set the flowers dancing — and then I’ll go with one great swoop over the clover field — and then I’ll blow over the Lake of Shining Waters and ripple it all up into little sparkling waves. Oh, there’s so much scope for imagination in a wind! ~L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables, 1908
A furious night wind whips tree branches into a violent frenzy.
The moon replies
with a poem.
~Dr. SunWolf, professorsunwolf.com
The music of the wind has a hundred varied notes. It plays on every bush and tree a different harmony, whistling in the thornbushes, surging in the pines and firs, rustling in the evergreens, in winter chanting a mighty anthem in the bare branches, in summer playing a gay, whispering tune among the leaves. Listen to its shivering voice in the winter grass, the silky swish of its music in summer meadows, the dry whisper of its song in rushes and reeds. There is wonder in that wandering call in spring woodlands, when first it murmurs from afar, an almost inaudible stir and rumour, growing louder and ever louder as it sweeps through the forest and cries triumphantly in every tree. Never silent, never still, the restless wind seeks everywhere some instrument on which to play its enchanting music. ~Dallas Kenmare Browne Kelsey (c.1905–1970), “The Music of Nature,” 1931
Through woods and mountain passes
The winds, like anthems, roll…
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “Midnight Mass for the Dying Year,” Voices of the Night, 1839
The weathercocks on spires and housetops were mysterious with hints of stormy wind, and pointed, like so many ghostly fingers, out to dangerous seas, where fragments of great wrecks were drifting, perhaps, and helpless men were rocked upon them into a sleep as deep as the unfathomable waters. ~Charles Dickens, Dealings with the Firm of Dombey and Son, 1846
There was an edge to this darkness… A cold wind was blowing out of the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things. ~George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones, 1996
The wind stirred the sky like a sea. It made it boil and darken, then it made it foam against the mountains. It howled behind the clouds. The sun had disappeared. So had those still patches of peaceful azure. Nothing remained but clouds racing down towards the south. At times the wind plunged, crushed the wood, and hurled itself on the road, weaving long tresses of dust. ~Jean Giono (1895–1970), Regain, 1930, translated from the French by Henri Fluchè and Geoffrey Myers, Harvest, 1939 [a little altered
Wind tries to show Tree how to run wild.
Tree: “I cannot leave this place.”
Wind: “Then let’s dance.”
~Terri Guillemets, “Palm’s psalm,” 2014
There is a muscular energy in sunlight corresponding to the spiritual energy of wind. ~Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, 1974
The howling wind went on down below, enough to tear your guts. ~Jean Giono (1895–1970), Regain, 1930, translated from the French by Henri Fluchè and Geoffrey Myers, Harvest, 1939
Only those in tune with nature seem to pick up on the energy in wind. All sorts of things get swept off in the breeze — ghosts, pieces of soul, voices unsung, thoughts repressed, love uncherished, and a thousands galore of spiritual ether. ~Terri Guillemets, “Free but homesick,” 2005
A chill wind
is the most exhilarating
for it often is the storms
that do the cleansing
and the storms
that have the more dramatic beauty
and the storms
that make us stand alone
arrested, amazed, in awe.
~Kate Lassman, from “Storm clouds,” in The Avocet: A Journal of Nature Poetry, Fall 2016
AUSTROMANCY is a method of divination by the winds. It is, apparently, a branch of the science of Aeromancy, which says Agrippa, divines by aërial impressions, by the blowing of the winds, by rainbows, by circles about the moon and stars, by mists and clouds, and by imaginations in clouds and visions in the air. ~“A Short Lexicon of Alchemy,” appendix to The Hermetic and Alchemical Writings of Aureolus Phillippus Theophrastus Bombast of Hohenheim, called Paracelsus, The Great (1493–1541), editors A. E. Waite & L. W. de Laurence, 1894–1910 [In addition to austromancy, another term for wind divination is anemoscopy.
No one but Night, with tears on her dark face,
Watches beside me in this windy place.
~Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892–1950), Poem VII (“Night is my sister, and how deep in love…”), Fatal Interview, 1931