Wind
I do not know where I'm going,
but I always arrive.
You hear me, but I am silent.
I make words, but I do not speak.
I am not always fast.
But I am never still.
I do not always bite.
I may brush.
I may wrap around.
I slip along the hills and plains,
the mountains and valleys,
the deserts and forests
I carry petals and seeds across fields,
and shrapnel for miles across borders.
I remember neither.
I don't always strike.
I am on the ground,
but I don't need the ground to move.
Sometimes, I may linger,
but I'm not truly lingering.
I may be cold.
I may be ominous.
I may be warm.
I may be inviting.
I may walk the ground among you,
with grace or with malice.
I do not gauge my movements
in any particular pretense.
You may smell me in the fruit
just as it's over-ripened.
Feel me in your sleeves and
down the back of your shirt
as I walk with, and around you.
I come and I go.
I go where I please,
yet have no control.
I open doors, and I slam doors closed.
I may cool the skin.
I may burn the crops.
I am indifferent,
I take with me what comes.
Some follow me,
but I am never to be found.
Some brace against me,
but I am incapable of being stopped.
I do not arrive for anyone, even myself.
I am here when something ends,
just as much as when something begins
I am in motion.
I am motion.
I am change.
I am everywhere.
Every time dust rises and falls,
with the hairs on your arms,
and the light of a flickering candle,
I am there. You feel me.
And something always comes with me.
Even though I did not bring it.
I am not a cause nor an effect.
I simply am.
I am not prayed to,
but I hear the words of everyone,
the sounds of everything,
as I pass through, but
I haven't made a sound.
I go by many names,
even by all the things
that cannot name me.
Whether by word,
or by action.
I am Wind.
