Wind.

Wyeth, November Fields, Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, 1945

KINTYRE

I wake when the wind changes.

Beyond the dark Firth far,

Where the waves clap and the tides rustle and the herring are,

At the far side of the great Clyde the wind ranges.

I wake as it changes.

If snow flew or mist blew

East on the hills of Renfrew,

Here, Arran shltered, we might never know,

Get no breath of sleet or hard snow,

Until across the mountain ranges

The wind backs and changes.

Clear starlight as sleep takes me,

But a cloud creeps from the side.

My dream no more ranges

Through a universe at rest,

But quick through the window wide,

From Atlantic on the west

Or from east beyond Clyde,

Leaps anxious into my breast.

I wake when the wind changes.

Naomi Mitchison