The wind tags me in Summer,
so we run like birds in flight
gracefully and free.

The wind tags me again in Fall
when colorful leaves move in clapping mode
to see which one of us will win.

The wind tags me in Winter
when air is cold and snow is in forecast
to make me run inside.

The wind tags me in Spring,
with a hug to awaken me
to see the flowers start to bloom.

The wind tags me often,
as I whisper gratitude
for the company of a sacred