Conversations With The Wind

Woe is the wind. The howling mood of it’s aggressive gust, filled with enthusiasm and the zeal of travels beyond imagining. This timeless spirit of unquenchable curiosity. It scarves it’s loneliness like tattoos across our skin in passing. Know my violence, it offers, know my despair. Know the timeless battle of self pity. All war waged of misconception, deceit, and misperceptions. This farce of being. What would I know in an eternity of wandering? What but everything and what has it served me? I am a newborn, a ways yet a hatchling. The confusion of the world. Too many sensations to overwhelm and appreciate, all insisting attention at once. I am the harmony of contradictions, the tie that holds them together. I am the conflict of knowing and doing. Do not pity me. It will satisfy no need in me but know me first hand. Be my lover, come sail in my winds and feel my agony. Feel the sweetness of the breeze, and the salt musk of the storm. Cry out against glass, metal, sand, and stone in the assault of force. No one knows. Feel the turmoil of a tornado and moan along to my screams of peace. Oh but also know the soft shift of spring to summer. The gentle sailing of trees to white fluffy clouds of dreams. The tender fall of myriad colored leaves and the mystical hum of the roaming bees. It is all too dear and completely horrid. Know it all in extremes and tell me the Wind is not your favorite sensation. Tell me no better companion can be known in the experience of the human confliction. The Wind and humanity in our likeness of condition. My precious human sing your song upon me. Let it die as I sail along. Let me carry the weight. You shall live within me forever. You and your hopeless words to scavenge the earth. You beckoned to me and I came. Say now the Wind is yours to claim.

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