All hands are off the wind today.
It flies free off the crest of an ocean wave.
It must have watched with envy
The inland breezes,
Hankering to taste the calm, green places.
On swift feet it visits us now;
It bandies leaves,
Pushes the trees…
Their drooping posture momentarily corrected.
They let fly oranges in protest.
Scorning these tokens
The shift mistral hurls past our shed,
Disappearing at last over the dunes.
