Friday Poem: The Wind Shines
Friday Poem: The Wind Shines
Cosmic Rays are Bathing Aarhus. A Grateful Post.
After a dark and, by all accounts, terrible winter, the sun has finally emerged, and it’s incredible to feel the warmth on our skin again, especially in these latitudes.
I’ve had an incredible week: I’ve caught up with my writing goals and deadlines, returned to running (and yes, I'm definitely a "sunny weather" runner), and spent a lot of quality time with my son and my beautiful wife.
On the non-Substack business front, I’m close to becoming a freelancer, collaborating with creative ex-colleagues who are giving this Spaniard a chance to shake things up. It is exciting.
Personally, I can’t really complain, and I truly hope this message finds you smiling, healthy and ready to soak these cosmic rays wherever you are.
Over the past few months, you and the rest of our subscribers have helped me channel many demons.
Writing here has been therapeutic. It's one thing to write for oneself, but having an audience adds an interesting and challenging layer of friction that fosters growth.
In the last five months, I feel I’ve grown immensely as a writer, reigniting a passion I hadn’t pursued consistently in many years.
So, dear reader, thank you for opening this email and reading through it. You are amazing.
Inspired by this positive energy, I’ve decided to write a poem today to maintain the momentum.
I hope you enjoy it. I hope you and those you love are good. Until next week.
The Wind Shines
The wind gleams and the sun whispers,
as if the world was but a juxtaposition
as if its verses were mere breaths
timeless, adrift in a sea devoid of hue.
The wind gleams and the sun whispers,
memory quivers within the synapses
like lovers separated
by absence of time, matter, or speech.
The wind gleams and the sun whispers,
and now there's no one left to proceed
no fears, no gatherings of witches,
nor the defiance in her stare.
The wind gleams and the sun whispers,
trees meander toward the shore
flowers embrace in silence
and the train, ever moving, crosses the station.
The wind gleams and the sun whispers,
you're thought of by no one, unnamed
your shadow, no longer pursued
your irises, no longer in the shade
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