Ode to the Wind

The wind blows, whistles, whips, and stomps its way across Wyoming, revealing its merciless power during all seasons, but especially during the spring. Fortunately I grew up with the wind- yes, the wind blows just as much in northeastern Colorado- rocking the sides of my house and waking me up in the middle of the night, so I am use to the moans and the lonesome cries the wind can make. Even still, the sharp chill of cool air breaking through your layers of clothing directly to your skin is always a surprise.

Even though the wind can be a nuisance, I can't help but wonder about the wind. Does the wind ever cease, become nonexistent, or does it simply move on to another part of the world, only to return again, the same wind? I can't help but think the same wind that knocks on my door, might be knocking on someone else's door, in another part of the world on a different day. Has the same wind that runs its fingers through my hair causing chaos, and a really good reason not to have an expensive hair due, done the same to someone in the past? Does the wind whisper secrets, the same secrets, over and over?

As thoughts about the wind drift along the breeze, a few poems about the mysterious element come to mind. Here they are:

The Wind Blows
By Molly Bredehoft

The wind blows,
Pushes the air,
And makes my wind chimes sing.

The wind blows,
Up to my house,
Knocking the sides to find me.

The wind blows,
Down the chimney,
Whistling words of confidence.

The wind blows,
Swaying the willows,
In flexible stance.

The wind blows,
Dancing with the pines,
An orchestra of its own.
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The Wind
By Molly Bredehoft

The wind, the wind: Does it ever stop?
The wind.

The wind, the wind: Where does it come from?
The wind.

The wind, the wind: Where does it go?
The wind.

The wind, the wind: A simple continuation.
The wind.