As I sit here, I wonder
and I ponder,
my mind wanders
from the trees
and the bees
and the birds that fly free,
to the steady beat
of nature.
That gentle, steady beat
like the thumping of our feet
or the banging of the drums
and the clapping of our palms.
I close my eyes and listen,
to the stories of the wind,
the history that it brings
to us.
Why don't we ever listen
to the stories of the wind?
It can tell us where we've been.
The wind has seen it all
since the beginning of time
always blowing
always flowing with experience
and never ceasing to watch the end.
Just trying to mend
and unbend
what was broken and twisted,
telling us what we've done,
how we've changed the earth God begun.
We've saluted for wars
and polluted for cars
made slaves of one another;
made fools of each other.
And all this time
the wind just watches
and catches
glimpses of our detriment,
sighing with disdain
as we live our lives in vain.
It tries to warn us
with that gentle, steady beat,
tries to remind us
of a time when the birds were not the only ones to fly free.
Why don't we ever listen to the stories of the wind?
