| I am watching wind-turned leaves
in grey rain-filled air. They move so easily, turning this way and then that. No hesitation hinders their perpetual motion, no resistance offered to the influence of a greater force, and so they spare themselves premature destruction. Leaves do not command the wind, but perhaps they dream. I am waiting in the wings of wind and time and love, turning simple tasks into a song for my beloved. I do not resist the passion, twisting heartbeats this way and then that in an orbit of sweet danger. And so I spare myself destruction on the thorns of wild uncertainty. There can be no tornado greater than the vastness of my love for the one who is approaching slowly, filling day and night with his presence, growing roots deep in my soul and I am rising gently, transcending who I am for who I can be in his breath. I do not command the wind, but I dream. |
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| *image: lee bogle |