Between the blacks of bending trees
I meet the moon at in betweens
I glimpse her glories, wild and worn
Aglow atop a stirring storm

Oh breathing birches blown about
Beneath her silver silence
Beyond the fields I farthest see
Along the dark horizon

There the hymns of heavy winds
Beyond the blown and gloomy leas
Where ghostly grass and rushing reeds
Dance darkly 'round my falling feet

A gentle breath blows

into the lap of my house --


a tender caress.

if I were you
and you were me
together maybe we could be
the people that we dreamt to be
I’d feel your feet inside my shoes
you’d feel my pain inside your head
we’d see the world
through our eyes
we’d feel the wind
on our skin

if I were you
and you were me
we’d understand each other’s world
for free

all the flowers bloom in spring
all the flowers bend with the wind

there’s so much beauty in those fragile things
they are living proof that being sensitive can be
all you need to feel the wholeness of your being

I buy myself flowers
and put them in a vase
I keep them close to me
as a reminder
of how soft
I can be

The wind moves like a roadrunner
That running around fast like a car
The wind moves like a runner that rushes to get to the finish line
The wind moves like a airplane
Lastly, the wind move like the ocean

Is the wind alive? That’s what the Choctaw believed.
The Apache called it, apocryphally, “the breath of the world.”

To them, the wind is the trickster you never see,
a joker on the plain of life.

What’s always arriving and always leaving?

What’s as old as the world, yet forever current?

Ever present and tireless, it seldom sleeps,
holding up jets, herding clouds like sheep,
filling sails, stirring leaves, causing rough seas.

What’s always passing, but already everywhere?

The Cherokee named ‘air’ the ‘keeper of spirits,”
because it sighs, cries, whispers and moans.
They credited it with great power and influence.

Today, we watch the skies with doppler witchery,
we forecast its path, with the gambler's odds - see,
the wind has turned on us, many times - like a tornado.
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Songs for this;
Colors Of the Wind - End Title by Vanessa Williams
They Call the Wind Maria by Harve Presnell
Windy by The Association