Wind wanders
as witness,
harvesting
wisdom's
secrets
sown from fields
of time, roaming
at random.
Now caressing petals
from fragrant
gardens,
now running through
rank alleyways,
reeking with refuse;
enchanted not by one,
undisturbed by the other-
simply a spectator.
Autumn leaves
waltz with the wind.
November gold
falls
a departing yellow flutter
(one last weightless laugh).
Scraps of city newsprint
flutter hither
and thither
among traveling trails
of restless currents.
Wind encounters
countless cohorts
and plays the game of
life
with
blissful abandon.
Capriciously chatting in whispers,
sometimes swelling to a shout
or
howling,
bellowing,
whistling, roaring
singing, scolding,
weeping,
adoring;
sometimes lilting, sweeping
and soaring
sighing, murmuring,
healing, restoring.
Evening,
communing with stars,
winking friends,
akin to the vastness
from which all breath, all breeze is born,
to which each gust returns
and rests in eternity.
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