The call of the wind

by Teena Raffa-Mulligan

The wind whispered softly through grass and through gum.

She heard it call clearly, invitingly, “Come!”

Felt fingers of freshness caressing her face,

ruffling her fur with such gentle embrace.

The earth had a freshness that comes after rain

and she heard the wind calling, again and again:

“Come and run with me, seek freedom, take flight!”

Its call roused a longing to know such delight.

It whispered so softly, in murmur so low.

It beckoned her, “Come,” and she wanted to go.

To forage in green grass new-kissed by the rain,

to taste of its sweetness and know once again

how it feels to run freely with life unrestrained,

to run with the wind, by a fence uncontained.

She pricked up her ears, her body was tense.

Her heart filled with longing, she leaped at the fence.

The sweet taste of freedom was brief – incomplete –

for she soon heard the sound of hurrying feet.

Familiar voice calling, she paused in her flight,

heard gentle voice saying, “I know it’s not right.

But sorry, old girl, I can’t let you run free.

If you’re on the loose the ranger might see

And take you away. Then you’d no more know

even brief tastes of freedom – a walk every day.

It’s not much to offer, but home you must stay.”