Running to Find

I’m running away

Don’t try to catch me

I can’t catch myself

I’m already ahead of myself

My feet keep moving

I’m getting farther away

I’m out in the realms of space

Maybe, I’ll find myself one day.

The Wind Will Set You Free

The green reeds quietly sway eastwards as the sun fades, casting its shadow over the simmering horizon.  A large boar gently emerges from the shaded mudded creek, closes its eyes, and lets the gentle breeze harden the mud on its face.   When the boar opens its eyes, the flitter of its eyelid causes the mud to break. The mud falls like bits of sand and gently dances in the air like pollen.  The boar is free.

A black-footed ferret gazes up into the oak tree.  The bark of the tree is cold and wetted with the first year’s snowfall.  No matter how much she tries, she cannot climb.  Her eyes are fixated on a particular branch of the oak tree; on that branch rests a robin nest.  The mother robin is away,  the black-footed ferret is a mother too.  She can hear her kits high pitched whimpers crescendo in the wind.  She cannot leave this tree.  The crescendos heighten, and heighten, and heighten.  The black-footed ferret’s gaze focuses on the rattling branch, and then to swiftly to the robin nest which hangs by a thread.  The nest collapses, the eggs fall on the bedded snow with hardly a crack.  The black-footed ferret is free.

The night sky is clouded; the moon emerges from time to time through the clouds. It emerges long enough for the little girl to count its craters, its crevices, and dark spots before it once again vanishes.  The girl sits on a black swing in a small park that only she knows of.  Her fingers grasp the swing‘s alloy chains, but she lacks the energy to swing. Her eyes are red and watery, her head furrowed, her lips downcast like the moon, and her nose sniffles away.  She lets go of her grasp on the alloy chains, and buries her face into her delicate palms. She’s all alone.  Suddenly, a tender gust engulfs her.  Goosebumps emerge under the thickness of her jacket.  The gust holds her tight. Although the green grass, wooden fences, window panes, and trees too bend, the wind is focused on her. It gently grasps her tightly.  She inhales the friendly gust through her nostrils, and lets it rest in her body. The gust dries her water eyes, and her hair blows without inhibition.  The young girl is free.

The wind blows and blows. Through summer and fall, through winter and spring, through times of plenty and times of famine, through times of joy and times of hardness the wind blows.  In your darkest moments and your deepest triumphs, in your light hardships and soft agonies, in your heavy burdens and joyous burdens, the wind blows.  Just like night turns to day and just like the freshness christens the morning air after a night’s rain, the wind blows.  It blows without volition and causes all things to pass.  So, in the servitude of acrimony, the melancholies of melancholy, the nightmares which exist to eyes wide open unburdened with sleep.  Remember like the mudded boar emerging from the creek. Remember lik the black footed ferret gazing up the oak tree.  Remember like the little girl grasping the swing’s alloy chain on that moon covered night.  Remember, just like them, that the Wind will set  you free.