Searching the Tree’s Yearnings

The Wind in the Leaves

Inspired by Michelangelo Antonioni’s “Blow Up”


The sound of wind in the leaves




A songbird

Soft footsteps

A hidden couple

A troupe of jesters

A murder

A pair playing tennis

A ball bouncing it’s hollow-rubber sound

Careening in all directions

The strings of a racquet send a musical response

A volley


It started

A man in white jeans snaps pictures


Sure of his false self

Cocksure facade of cool

Willful oblivious determination

Straight on the tracks

Runaway train tenacity



Capturing what eludes joy

On film

The moment

Stuck on the flypaper of art


Searching the tree’s yearnings

For something to save

A bottle of lost grandeur

When light gets lost in the dark sky

Piles of paper pictures

That signify some deeper meaning

In the art of walking at dusk


Starts with the open space

Around trees

Where grass huddles

Leaves cling at odd angles

Allowing light in like the slow flakes

From a cloud’s white reminder

Onto the faces of a couple

Hiding their companionship from the world


Secrets tell a good story

Behind the words

Pictures tell a good story

Behind what happened


Heavy black Chelsea boots

Run towards and away

He never hides his presence

Squatting leaning bending

Photographs into the private world


The woman objects

Chases him

Arms waving

Bites the hand holding the camera

Her peace invaded

She stumbled into the light

Into the frame

Into the world


The wind rustles the trees

The leaves calling

Afraid to contact their neighbor

All of them



In unison

Beyond control


Rubbing and massaging against each other

With high-pitched gentle friction

Elegantly touching

Vibrantly veined

Leaf to leaf

Barely, imperceptibly touching

Consensual attitudes of interruption

Guided by breezes

Winds hold sway

Branches bend and flex coaxing and recruiting

Leaves above and below

To join the chorus


Soft jazz plays along

A soundtrack of misunderstanding

She tries to pull his camera away

He captures the part she fervently hides

Pictures steal part of her away

Into the public domain of opinion


The songbirds sit astride the wind

To sing above

Insolent human manners

Forlorn birds climb their pitch above

Outnumbered by the tree’s rush of slivered sounds

The leave’s vociferous lyrical musculature

Strangling into life

The sprout of perverse desires


An incessant feverish rustling

Follows him back to the studio

The sounds of wind and leaves

Are in the pictures now


Film bathed in the darkness

Of blackening leaves inside sound

Capturing what hides  behind the sound

Inside of celluloid

Inside the black olive

When the dark oils of night

Survive the savage disarray

Where wind flies into a blackbird’s wings

Combing the sky for night’s diamond stars


Soon he develops his pictures

Bathes his art in

The pool of her clandestine actions

She comes to see him

And they watch each other

The solution hatches surreal evidence

False ideas grow out of diabolical enlargements

Always surrounded by a chorus

A pavilion of sounds

At home in the fiber of speculation


It all grows louder

More kinetic

Wind instructing leaves

Photographs enlarge into a new storm

Growing sounds crescendo

Where art mimics murder

A body grows in the imagined horizon


Photographs transform to abstract art

Coaxing thoughts awry

Mobilizing them

Towards a great insurrection


He runs back to the open spaces

Searches for what he saw

As the picture grew larger and larger

Bathed in the studio of imagination

A dead body appeared

Behind the profile of the secret girl

Fixed together by the celluloid

Arms and photons

A stick figure shed by dreams

Hoping to live in daylight


Running and seeking

The body dashed back to ether

Only rustlings and gray-light starlings

With precious sounds

Soon to die

As wind diminishes to a whisper

No one notices….