The wind is a mysterious force; I call it a “He”.
Curious and filled with wonder in his babyhood,
He is gentle and calm as it mixes the tunes,
with the foliage in the garden of his childhood.
Mischievous and playful in his adolescence,
Turning into somewhat shy but flirty,
In the endless dancing of the evening,
The wine and a lover’s yearning.
Then it is strong but hesitant,
In the firmness in the resolute will,
To learn and prepare for the lightning and thunder,
His share of the battle of his peak.
Then it is fierce and sharp, in its move to make a mark,
To affirm its power in the prime of his manhood.
A war almost won and almost lost,
But it doesn’t matter the fight needs to go on.
Then it calms down, a sudden realization almost,
That he does not have much time to spare anymore.
He looks back and is proud and not so proud,
The milestones in the long memory recalled.
He learns to make music again and dances the jive and cha cha,
In the garden of his youth now overgrown to compare,
The regrets that are much but ripe and mature days that are much more.
He the wind, then calms down and then decides to let go.
To realize the wind; the breath of life itself,
One force of spirit in time,
The past, the present, the future,
All blended in one for thine.