favonian

I can see the fallen leaves disappear as the wind blows them into the gutters of dirty rain water. Just yesterday the wind had blown them away from their mothers, dying of thirst. Shelley said the West Wind moves us. Transcedence through seasons, transcedence through life. He asks, "If winter comes, can spring be far behind?"

I've watched the wind destroy green life around me, could it possibly help preserve it now? The breeze lifts my skirt gently to coax me into its good graces. Already the lilac bushes have started to bloom. Their cotton-candy sweetness hugs my skin as the wind blows. Redemption from the winter it asks from me.