Nazeing, Essex \ High Balling Wind

Alan: At the center of great commotion, a stillness.

Nazeing, Essex

The blackthorn

burst of white on black

scratching, scratching itself in the wind.

Towards the Lea,

on the sheltered south slope

below the copse,

bee skeps.

Near, through the gated hedge,

gleaming white

headstones.

Nancy: What else would a railroad man’s daughter compare the wind to?  It’s spring – the wind blows whoooee.

High Balling Wind

This wind’s traveling.  This wind’s moving

on a long grade.

If you could hop this wind

wouldn’t you fly . . .

But you can’t catch this wind.

It’s got a heavy load; it’s full of winter

and it’s headed out.

I heard that whistle, and I went out

to see.  Yes, this wind’s blowing

a clear track.  This wind’s blowing

stand aside, coming through . . .

No, you can’t catch this wind,

it’s wailing high ball,

right through town.  This is a freight train

wind; it makes my feet itch,

but I can’t catch it – stand back –

it’s high balling right through town.

Whoooee . . . stand aside, coming through,

this wind.