The Winds of Change

At the moment the winds are changing.

I don’t mean blowing in a different direction. Symbolically there is change on the wind, and whenever it blows hard enough it takes something with it or deposits something new. Happenings are afoot; the very air is saturated with them.

It’s almost tangible: cobwebs on the face, a tremor of unease, and an inexplicable feeling that you’ve missed something blatantly obvious. It sits in a film of grease on the palate, smells of fried onions, burnt sugar and oceans of people – the biscuit-y scent of life and the salt on their skin. And the sound is unmistakable; a kiss of zephyr in the hollow behind your ear; creeping whispers from behind closed doors in a language you don’t quite consciously understand, but that strikes a cord much deeper down…

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Can You Feel The Winds Blowing?

Can you feel the winds blowing?
There’s change on the way.
But for good or for ill?
I’m unable to say.

It smells of performers,
Of travellers and singing,
Of fairgrounds, the circus;
The Changes – it’s ringing.

So anchor yourself
Through the pain and the strife,
Or prepare to embark
On the ride of your life…

Grab a hold of the cyclone
And don’t let it go!
Let the harsh torrent take you
The places it blows.

Meet kaleidoscope people
With bright, vivid eyes,
Who haven’t forgotten
The Earth is alive.

Sail on technicolour currents
Down rivers of dreams
Where the tangible world
Is not all that it seems.

Fall head over heels
Along time-travelled roads
Where foxes speak English
And princes are toads.

And flail around
‘Til you tear at the seams
While the vivid tornado
Engulfs your vain screams.

And what if you break?
Well, at least you’ll have tried!
Only one thing is sure:
It’s a hell of a ride.

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It makes me feel restless and uncomfortable, wildly excited and terrified, claustrophobic but also within grasp of freedom. Like jumping out of an aeroplane and panicking, mid-fall, that you’re not wearing any safety gear, because you can’t remember putting it on and now your brain is foggy with terror and thrills. You’re committed to the ride, be that scenic or a face full of dirt and a broken neck.

As the Winds of Change tear mercilessly at my careful attempt at structure, I can’t help but wonder whether the foundations were faulty in the first place. Did I set my roots too shallow, or try building in a notorious hurricane path? Despite the carnage this might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Maybe I’ll end up borne to more solid ground.

I just hope that in the beginning, in a moment of lucidity, I remembered my parachute!

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