Wind Whispers

Near the cliff's edge he stood poised and composed. Wind swept dust whirling salt mingling thyme, tickling his half-clogged nose. Seagulls screeching, gliding, soaring, diving, harbingers of electric storms. A mistral wind blew cold and cruel black clouds formed low, forbidding. Lazy lizards scuttled for refuge Sparrows hid in lowly carobs Or flew into the stately pines. The wind spoke suddenly. Gusts whispering dread. An urge, a whisper, an invitation echoing sirens of old: "Be free, fly, liberate yourself." Below, the sea in turmoil, no fishing boats in sight. No one but he dared face the storm, the storm he feared was inside his tattered soul, a sea of torment. The birds and creatures of the wild found a haven, but he had none, no solutions to the inner storm, except to dive and join the sirens, in the perilous seas below.