Relentless in our search for ease.

There is a wind gap on the ridge.
Settlers and immigrants and soldiers
following the indian trading trail
centuries of bringing trade goods
to the rendezvous.
Around the first point there it is,
visible a mile away. A destination.
How far we go for a little ease.

The wind too must have thought it so
down off the glaciers of the ice age
finding the beach of an earlier sea
to move relentlessly century after century.
How far we go for a little ease,
if we are the wind.
One big flood, water cuts a valley, all downhill.
Wind too but not so fast. Relentless the earth spins
ocean steady of temperature as land holds back the glacier
or not, air rushing to and fro, lifting falling.
Falling, falling, falling off the ice onto the ridge
pushing the beach of the earlier sea
into the valley. "There." "The gap."

A marker as much as an ease perhaps,
directions are always helpful. "Turn right."
"Exit here." voice on dash, wind listening
to ancient beach and distant ocean,
what moves us to turn. To go a mile to ease a climb.
Relentless in that search we no longer
use our eyes, we do not see,
the voice in our head, our car
says turn right and we do not see.
So blind now and turning right
still taking the easy way we join nature
relentless down hill or up, on the way to the beach.
As was the wind, as was the wind.

By Phil Specht on Feb 28, 2011