Kim Nation
Wind Swept
It was early on a February morning and the blue hour wrapped us in a coat of frost.
We drove gingerly, black ice on the road below us and all around the steely winter’s dawn invaded the night sky. We were almost at the end of something: the coast, winter, us… I couldn’t tell which.
We hadn’t spoken for fourteen miles. I thought of turning the car right around and heading back where we’d come. I thought of dropping you off somewhere, a café, a railway station. Anywhere away from me.
Then I saw the tree.
I hit the brakes, you screeched as the wheels locked and released. But you didn’t shout at me, not this time.
We got out, reached in and slid our cameras out from the back seats. You grabbed a coat, prepared to wait for sunrise. I just took two paces back and pressed the shutter. And then the wind got up.
We watched in silence as the wind gusted over the tree. It whipped the branches and bent the trunk so low I thought it might snap. I heard it moan and whistle as the branches waved in an angry distress.
And suddenly the wind dropped and the branches stilled.
Back in the car you leaned towards me, pushed away a windswept lock of hair. And we drove on.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, Debra Broughton and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
