What more is there to the wind
Than the shaking of branches and the rustling of leaves?
What more than the sound of the wind chimes
And the enveloping caress that seems to move right through you?
What more than the voice that speaks of autumn on the edge of summer
And summer on the edge of spring?
What else besides the lingering desire for change
And the wonderment that there is no end and no beginning,
Just a circling breath born of divine lungs?
What more is there to the wind
Other than the fact that we are here to feel it?
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