Where does the wind go?
Where does it begin?
One moment the air is still,
only a gentle breath kissing
the blades of grass.
Another moment dried leaves stand
at attention then tumble
forward, torn brutally from
the hard earth into a feverish force.
Flower petals tear away.
Beings with wings soar above or
shelter below the stream.
First gentle, then playful, then urgent,
then angry, then vacant…
Gone as inexplicably as it intruded
the quiet scene. Both faithless and
unforgiving. Vital and vexing.
Filling the present while at the
same time rushing into the future.
Where are we going?
Where did we begin?
One moment pursuing a chosen endeavor;
the unexpected, the intended, the unwelcome
turns a corner contradicting happy plans.
Assumptions disperse and aspirations hide away.
We scramble upon an empty plane, desperate
to recover a place for grasping and climbing.
We gratefully plunge
back into canyons of stillness and striving
where the air is stale and undisturbed.
Let us long for that wind to agitate our
quiet satisfaction. To lift us
momentarily from our corners. To
fill the present with motion everywhere.