The speaker and a companion climb a hill on a day of strong west wind, when clouds, shadows, and even the earth seem unable to keep still. The landscape is half autumn, half vision: hedges shiver, woods burn with color but hold dark shadows, and a kestrel climbs while its shadow races below it across the grass. The speaker feels that same restlessness—thoughts flying freely, happiness pursuing them like a shadow. At the summit, something shifts: caught by the kestrel’s swift, wild movement, their spirits fold their wings and become still, almost weightless. The final image is one of release, as a new spirit rises above the hills of time. The mood is windswept, ecstatic, and quietly transcendent.
The Kestrel — Summary
In a great western wind we climbed the hill And saw the clouds run up, ride high and sink; And there were shadows running at our feet Till it seemed the very earth could not be still, Nor could our hearts be still, nor could we think Our hearts could ever be still, our thought less fleet Than the dizzy clouds, less than the flying wind. Eastward the valley and the dark steep hill And other hills and valleys lost behind In mist and light. The hedges were not yet bare Though the wind picked at them as he went by. The woods were fire, a fire that dense or clear Burned steady, but could not burn up the shadows Rooted where the trees' roots entangled lie, In darkness; or a flame burned solitary In the middle of the highest of brown meadows, Burned solitary and unconsuming where A red tree stooped to its black shadow and The kestrel's shadow hunted the kestrel up the hill. We climbed, and as we stood (where yet we stand And of the visioned sun and shadow still drink) Happiness like a shadow chased our thought That tossed on free wings up and down the world; Till by that wild swift-darting shadow caught Our free spirits their free pinions furled. Then as the kestrel began once more the heavens to climb A new-winged spirit rose clear above the hills of time.