Wind

I joined a writer's group a few months ago, and one of our assignments was to write about something we like. I chose to write about wind: I love the coolness on my face when I open the window over a steaming hot sink.  I love how it chases away stale air and bad smells I love how it suddenly surges a candle flame with light and life Or awakens a tree Or churns an ocean I love how it playfully messes up tidy gardens and pathways with leaves and sand,  Just for the sheer delight of watching people put it all back so it can do it again.  I love how it cools my lips and throat when I'm running  And fills every tired crevice in my body with energy, life and heightened awareness As it moves through me, stiff joints become soft and limber, colors are brighter, sounds are clearer and a rhythmic give and take of wind sets in as I find my pace.  Eventually fatigue comes and wind no longer invigorates,  but sustains.  I gasp heavily for more air and it always delivers, holding me up and coaxing me forward.  But what I love most about wind is what it does to an airplane Pulling unseemly metal and fabric high up into itself  Showing  its occupants sights otherwise never beheld.  Because of wind I have seen a setting sun rise as it carried me up And I've seen it set under the clouds Only to appear again as I settled below them Making islands of snow covered mountaintops turn pink in a sea of fog.