bowing with the wind
Friday, 27. March 2009, 12:35:47
How the wind blows these days.
I can remember when the wind was shy. Timidly and gently, careful not to knock anything over he would whisper silently his secrets into our ears and caress our bodies so delicately. Was it fear of damage, of his own strength, or was it lack of confidence, or doubt that others could handle him, love and accept him as he was that made him so aware of the way he moved? He seemed to hold back even when the clouds built up around him, suffocating him, and on days when the searing hot sun burnt the land and the trees he sat in the shade and desperately hoped that he would not be seen.
He would slink away stealthily, sigh a breath of relief and collapse.
I've seen him crazy and all stirred up sometimes. And on the odd occasion, he'll sit still and watch the young and old interact. But the most moving times is when he is full of love and emotion and he knows this too. Far beyond having any control over his feelings he delights in this love, and spends his time wondering and musing in the night. And as he ponders on the wonders of this mysterious feeling he whistles to the creatures of the night and hums sweet melodies to the lonesome solitary she-spirit. He is drawn toward her shiny light and waits patiently until she is standing, so still and so silent, so that he is certain of her full attention without any distraction. And in return, she bows into his arms.
And how she bows.
I can remember when the wind was shy. Timidly and gently, careful not to knock anything over he would whisper silently his secrets into our ears and caress our bodies so delicately. Was it fear of damage, of his own strength, or was it lack of confidence, or doubt that others could handle him, love and accept him as he was that made him so aware of the way he moved? He seemed to hold back even when the clouds built up around him, suffocating him, and on days when the searing hot sun burnt the land and the trees he sat in the shade and desperately hoped that he would not be seen.
He would slink away stealthily, sigh a breath of relief and collapse.
I've seen him crazy and all stirred up sometimes. And on the odd occasion, he'll sit still and watch the young and old interact. But the most moving times is when he is full of love and emotion and he knows this too. Far beyond having any control over his feelings he delights in this love, and spends his time wondering and musing in the night. And as he ponders on the wonders of this mysterious feeling he whistles to the creatures of the night and hums sweet melodies to the lonesome solitary she-spirit. He is drawn toward her shiny light and waits patiently until she is standing, so still and so silent, so that he is certain of her full attention without any distraction. And in return, she bows into his arms.
And how she bows.
WIDGETIZE