The wind
Whispers to me of change.
Even the oak,
Mighty and stubborn,
Bows to its command.
Sustained chimes
Echo reminders
Of movement and time,
Loss and rebirth.
A runaway train
Life sometimes is.
Either we hold fast
As it spirals down mountainsides
And around sharp bends,
Or we watch it
Charge past,
Stealing the treasures
We long to keep.
There is no point
In wishing the wind away.
Now is ours,
However brief,
To seek beauty;
To bask
In the magnificent rays of simplicity
And be warmed
In its radiant joy.
