The wind
that undefinable thing
we all feel
but can’t really touch
since it slips through our fingers
and escapes even the tightest grasp
or taste
though it can carry a kiss for thousands of miles
and the flavors of the world with it
both to land on our lips
or hear
though it sings with the limbs of the tree
that sway in union with its ebb and flow
or even feel
though we feel its weight
and pressure as it pushes us down the street
or vacuum as it pulls on our clothes and hair
yet it spins the colorful blades
of the pinwheel we carried as children
the one we blew on with thrill
as it resounded with our breath
and distorted the sounds we would make
like playing cards
clipped to the frames of our bikes
that clacked in the spokes
of its wheels
to help us imagine
we could ride just fast enough
to catch it
put it in a jar
and release it like a tiny whirlwind
to turn the pinwheel
that still swirls in my mind
and with each rotation
I learn a little more
from the spiraling trail
that blends the colors
of its seemingly
obvious
surface
into a dance of light
and the flutter it makes
like the wings of a chaos butterfly
that, with just the tiniest influence,
creates a storm with each turn.
With each flutter.
With each spin.
The beautiful dance continues.
It is a dance between us and nature.
Between human
and Divine.

Published by J M Greff

J M Greff is the rambling author, trucker philosopher, peace loving hippie, spiritual warrior, backpacking pantheist, wandering minstrel, and poet fool who created A Caravan of One for you. View all posts by J M Greff