I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind
is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.
– William Shakespeare (Hamlet) –
After being deluged with wind and rain this week, I was mighty glad to catch a glimpse of the sky peeking through the clouds.
“Where flowers bloom so does hope.”
– Lady Bird Johnson –
Today’s flower is a Hydrangea. I took this at the walking park in Lenoir, NC about three weeks ago.
“We are like butterflies who flutter for a
day and think it is forever.”
– Carl Sagan –
Today’s Odd Shots Monday is a combination – an eye shot for Julie and Abe, and a butterfly (Gulf Fritillary) for Marge and Klaus.
I hear them whisper your name,
those mighty winds that blow,
I know that you are close at hand
the winds just told me so.
– Marge Tindal (Whispering Winds) –
Today’s SWF photo is The Blowing Rock – which hangs 3,000 feet above the Johns River Gorge.
The Legend of The Blowing Rock
Long ago a Chickasaw chieftan, fearful of the white man’s admiration for his lovely daughter, journeyed far from the plains to bring her to eastern mountains. One spring day the maiden was daydreaming from a ledge on a cliff when she spied a Cherokee brave hunting in the lush wilderness far below. She had been living on the mountain with only a squaw mother for company and the brave gave her hope for a friend.
Slowly she stood, lifted her bow, drew back her arrow and carefully took aim. The arrow sped swiftly from the rock to the valley below where it hit a tree in front of the brave. The young brave spun around to find the culprit. The maiden’s laughter alerted him to her presence on the rocks above and he scrambled up the mountain to meet her. It wasn’t long before he began courting her with songs of his land and they became lovers.
They spent many days together, wandering the woodland mountains of the area until one day a strange red sky appeared over the Blowing Rock. The brave saw it as a bad omen commanding him to return to his tribe but the maiden begged him not to leave her. Torn between having to choose between his true love and returning to the plains, he jumped off the Blowing Rock into the woodlands far below.
The maiden was grief-stricken and prayed daily to the Great Spirit. Finally, another evening came with a red sky. This time, a mighty gust of wind blew her lover back to the Rock and into her arms. Ever since, the wind blows continually upward from the valley below to the top of the Blowing Rock and causes the snow to fall upside down in the winter.
At the request of Marge Tindal, I am posting the entire poem from the quote above. Please see below for more links to her poetry. Thank you, Mrs. Tindal, for allowing me to use your beautiful poem!
Whispering Winds
~Marge Tindal~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I hear them whisper your name,
those mighty winds that blow.
I know that you are close at hand
the winds just told me so.The direction from whence they blew,
I’m not sure I know.
For only when I hear your name,
am I sure the winds did blow.Caressing my face with a whisper.
Calling out your name.
The winds of delight entice me.
I will never be the same.I will follow the singing wind,
and where it leads I’ll go.
For the wind that blew you to me,
will take me where I must go.Upward into the hills.
Calmly across the sea.
Hold on my love, I’m coming,
the wind has set me free.Free to look and search this earth
no matter how far that may be.
Free to follow the whispering wind,
until it blows me back to thee.I hear your laughter on the wind.
I try with all my might
to reach out to you
on this windy night.I feel you getting close to me.
I feel your whispered love.
I will reach my hand to you
please find me, my sweet dove.You grasp my hand in yours
and softly speak my name,
out of the whispering winds
we are together again.—————————-
‘Out of the Whispering Winds’
©2000 ~*Marge Tindal*~
All Rights Reserved
May not be used without
permission of the author
Marge Tindal’s Native American Indian Poetry
http://www.wcnet.org/~bro13256/marge.html
http://www.wcnet.org/~bro13256/marge2.htmlA Poetic Journey
http://www.apoeticjourney.com/view/?pageID=369288The Softer Side of a Romantic Marge
http://www.artgally.com/marget/Member : National Museum of Women In The Arts
Author of : Out of the Whispering Winds
What a desolate place would be a world without a flower!
– A.J. Balfour –
My flower for today is an English Daisy – Margheritina Pomponette variety.
