What do you do when the wild wind blows,

And it catches your hair,

And it begs you to come along?

Up and down the mountain, and over the river,

Over songs made by the leaves that rustle

And whistle through the branches of their thick oaks.

What do you do when it sings to you,

With the laugh of a child who ran into the cold water

And was stunned by the pleasure it spurred

And by the fish that tickled their calves and jumped,

Like lavish tokens of the earth.

What do you do when it carries the smells of rich dirt,

Decadent with life and living,

With worms that have escaped the fate of a bird

And are content,

Sunken in the ground

In their humble homes.

What do you do when it is wrapped around you like a hug

And you cannot refuse

The taste it puts on your tongue?

An eternal longing like the moaning of an aspen—

It grasps at you with its intrigue.

What will you do when the wild wind blows?