Wind songs whisper through summer sands brash promises of winter snow nights melting in memories of that which spring failed miserably to deliver. Howling, piercing pain tunnels through funnels of hardened flesh frozen by air–whistling a tune one prefers not to hear. A tune one cannot help but stutter upon as it stops in mid-air. When…..the wind softens its approach soothing my eyes with liquid velvet billows of languid chiffon, coating rosy tenderness where hatred once made rigid the air that delivered it, I’ll be there–as always. When…..howling harshness softens the branches of the message delivered enabling the whispers to grow into words, by bending with its song, hope will have arrived right along side the message…..right on time.
~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight