In the Wind Blowing (by Peter Elliott)

Poem 26 of 27 in "Be Meditated"

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It is January
The season, or so it seems
For those little white air-born seeds
Spikey tufts like dandelion.

In the hot north wind
I notice them
As they flit hopefully
Through the city streets.
Maybe the wind will lead them
To some park, some garden
Ideally some meadow, open and free.

Little seeds!
What bad karma!
All there is around here
Is rock-like asphalt
And concrete high-rise.

Almost overcome by compassion
I am tempted to take one
Over to the Flagstaff Gardens
Ten minutes walk away
But instead I return to work.

And when I return home
On the front porch
Are some more of these seeds
Caught up in some spider's web.

And I can gently return them
For further travels
On the wind.

---(Peter Elliott)---

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