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?