Santa Ana

Warm winds make the night itself seem restless.
The trees toss and turn as they cannot get to sleep:
They wish they had the freedom to go running through the night
Like the leaves they often lose
To a wanderlust
That they
Can only dream of.  

Warm winds make the night itself seem restless.
A whispered invitation not to try to sleep:
To let the wind caress me running naked through the night
Like the gentle touch of lovers,
Lovers past
Or yet-to-be
I often dream of.


                                        Thomas G. Digby
                                        written 0340 hr  5/29/78
                                        typed   0505 hr  9/16/79
                                        entered 1245 hr  4/09/92