Vintage Oak Vineyard Oak Tree Oil Painting

I believe that every story is attended by its own sprite,

whose voice we embody when we tell the tale.

Phillip Pullman


Come, you are the soft wind

of September, hanging your hair

over the vineyard

while church bells echo

in the arch of your back.

Grapes glisten at your feet

and soon their blood skin

will be crushed into wine.

Your estranged lover

rests in the gatehouse

waiting for your hand

to press breath from his lungs,

and memory from his sleep.

giving life to the voiceless poet. There

He lies naked, washed-over

by light and billowing drapes,

the coming of new stories..

Your scent drifts along the windowsill

while a small bird takes wing.

Leaves rustle, her shadow bridging

the wall’s cracked stone.

8 replies on “Air”

Hi Michael,

Yes, I imagine, as it stands, it would seem quite enigmatic, even to me. And I say that because this is 10 years old and I brought it out after reviewing all poems about September. What I forgot was that three versions or drafts of this exist, and that one , first, posted, was not the final draft. The one now, which I have re-posted, is the final version. I remember this was based on the idea that stories or poems are often lingering in the consciousness of the ether and controlled by air spirits or sprites. As writers, we summon them when needing to write or be inspired. This poem goes one step further; it depicts the first days of Autumn as a spirit of harvest, of creative fruit as well as ideas, the breath of revival and renewal. Her lover is the writer who has become disillusioned with life and writing, thus estranged from her and his relationship with the world of poetry. In a metaphorical way, he is numb, deadened by his own sense of alienation and emptiness. The poem invites her to come back into his life and resuscitate his creative spirit with her own amidst the background of the vineyard and the grapes that will be pressed into wine, just as she will press his will to write and memory of that need/experience into poetry, the lifeblood of his existence.

I thank you for your fine comments and honest perspective. It has helped me to find the completed draft or version of this poem. The poem , itself, like speculative fiction, is rather surreal and figurative in its theme and context.

My Best

Liked by 1 person

Wendy, as soon as I saw that the one post was an early draft and that you had reposted I immediately went back to read the poem fresh.

I very much like the quote at the beginning; it sets the tone of the piece and guides the reader in what to expect. Perhaps this explains why an idea for a poem sometimes seems to come out of nowhere.


Hi Michael

I am glad the final draft helped to clarify things and I agree, sometimes an idea for a poem comes out of no where. It is a mysterious process, indeed!

Thank you!


Hi Craig

I very much appreciate you taking the time to read and comment on this poem. Glad you enjoyed this one!

My Best



This poem is beguiling. When I began to read it, I was pulled in by the tone,
the imagery, the expertise. It held me captive from first word to last.

” a small bird takes wing.

Leaves rustle, her shadow bridging
the wall’s cracked stone”

Totally spellbinding!!




Thanks so much Sarah,

I am really glad you enjoyed this poem and shared your kind and generous thoughts. That means a lot to me!

Take care
my best always,

Liked by 1 person

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