Wind chases through the neighborhood maze,
whistling across metal railings positioned in precise angles,
playing hopscotch in trees’ leaves,
animating the world with invisible laughter.
Unformed fingers pluck rhythms of sound,
caress fields of wild grass,
push solemn trunks in steady currents,
a collaborative ballet.
My hair floats and I wonder,
Have I met this air before
across the ocean many years ago;
has it blown across familiar faces?
To where is it rushing?
Could I imagine its memories or
attach to it a message for a future self?
This presents a question: is wind constantly new, being ever exuded and expended,
or is it the same, racing around Terra since the atmosphere was made?
///
The visible bends beneath the invisible,
both conspicuously present in this moment.