Whisper and listen. Trill and creak, let the lyric poem soar with the skylark…
The bird creaks from the cherry trees. In a birch bark chirp. The ocean groans with the turn of the moon, tides in and out. Fall
and rise. Until soaking to the skies where wings whisper upon the wind reaching higher than any songs we sing, as children in a circle, turn
and turn. We fall, we rise, we leap, we loop, we flow. With what the wind says. Is what our hearts know. With each page, with each flip
and flip, until they flutter away on breezes. Which catch words on lips, tongues and sneezes. This world works without a thumb but falls
when too many send drums. Of feet tramping the brush, the blue bells remember when humans told stories of mountains. Now those rocks fall, torn down by gears of metal.
When all we need works with the gears of wind.
Breath with the wind, let your wings turn and flow with grace (and perhaps a bit of comedic timing too).
