There is a place that sits high on top of a hill, in the summer it is green, in the winter the snow will fill.
The lake with blue water is now frozen over, a white blanket has covered this field of clover.
The winter winds run through it like a riot, but today this land provides much needed peace and quiet.
Abundant tracks of wildlife made while they roam, nestled in the trees, a place they call home.
It could be now or one hundred years prior, the view catches my eye and I stand to admire.
A soft breeze touches my face, making its way to my ear, whistling by, there is a voice I can hear.
The wind calls my name as before, but this time I listen, while snowflakes in the sky flash and glisten.
This voice is familiar, often I chose to ignore, words of true peace and happiness, please tell me more.
Forgive those around you, and you will live much longer, forgive yourself, and you will be much stronger.
Know that there is bad, but good will prevail, let go of your anger, let it set sail.
Accept who you are, not what you will be, do all these things, then you will free.
I tell the voice that in this life, nothing is free, there are prices to be paid, the cost is on me.
The voice let out a small sigh, and said you must move forward, instead of asking why.
What is around you has been here for years, it has seen the world’s happiness and its tears.
You are part of this place as much as it is part of you, full of life and love, every day brand new.
Take this gift for which you did not ask, be true to yourself, take off your mask.
I left the hill, the words a carousel in my head, and vowed to try to do everything the wind had said.
When I returned that summer, the wind blew but did not call, never again heard, winter, spring, summer, or fall.
D.T. Hudson 2018
There is this place by where we used to live. We referred it as the POD land; long story. The view to me was amazing. Overlooking a beautiful Minnesota lake, I often dreamed of putting a home on the property. The problem was, I didn’t have the resources to even come close to achieving that dream. So instead of building a home, I would just sit an admire the beauty mother nature had given this place.
Throughout my poems, you can probably tell that my mind works on dark and light levels. For instance, when I am working a project, specifically art, my thoughts are almost verbal conversations that I have with myself. I would be lying if told you I didn’t sometimes also answer myself, but that is a different story all together.
This picture of the land in the winter is near and dear to me. I am fairly certain someone purchased the land and put up very large and lavish home. That is the beauty of photographs and poetry. I can remember it just the way it was, or maybe still is.
Thank you for taking a look at “The Wind”. I appreciate all of you reads and comments.