The wind dances,
collecting lingering scents of
vanilla and wood.
She blends them unbeknownst to their holders.
Disregarding the distance that
once held space.
She moves a fallen leaf,
and it lies to rest on a river–
a communion of natures offspring.
The troubles of land now converse with the mysteries of water.
When her movement halts,
the weight of her journey
is evident.
Carrying the laughter of
drunken summer teens,
the yawns of sleep-deprived workers,
and the songs of singing birds.
Nothing is lost in her motion,
as she weaves together every source of life.
From her unyielding tornadoes to her flowing trees,
Her dance binds us together.
She hands her ritual to the following breeze,
resting on the knowledge that
no matter the reach–
the winds dance
intertwines everything.
