talking with the wind

The other day I was talking with the wind. It was a bright day and the wind was fine and I asked it how things were. It told me of its trip through the miles of woods and how easy it was this time of year because there weren’t any leaves but how it missed the summer sounds that it made through the trees; how the buds we appearing and the song birds nesting and the families of bears coming out of their caves. It told me of the mountain tops and how it could see for mile upon mile, of carrying the hawks and eagle a flight and dancing with the windmills; of the river that was winding and overflowing its banks flooding the land where grasses will grow and of the whistliing noise it made between the towers of the city. It told me of its journey to the fluffy clouds above and the ocean shores afar and the spray of the surf and bark of the seals. The wind was quite contended with what it had seen and where it had been, things were well…..life, to the wind, was good