Breathe of the Divine

Not animal, vegetable, or mineral; neither liquid nor solid, you can’t touch it,
but it can push you forward or back.

Air in motion, spinning, leaping, shoving, lifting, agitating;
when still it seems non-existent, it just is.

It has no hands or mouth, yet it can tear, bite, pummel or caress.
It can burn or chill; lightly touching with warmth or a cooling sensation

It lifts, pulls, rustles, and blows;
invisible, it is always there except when it travels elsewhere,
leaving silence and stillness behind.

The wind is unseen except by its shadow; it carries scents of far away,
of home, of good memories, of freshness and youth, or the stench of illness, battle and. death.

From all the cardinal points, it brings distance closer;
the green growing things of new life in spring,
the odour of summer streets — festival foods and refuse
the brittle and pungent smell of autumn and the frozen, piney rasp of Winter.

Wind is felt, it is heard, it is smelled, it can be tasted,
it can be ridden by insects and birds;
it touches us inside and out, but it is invisible to the human eye, as invisible as the sight of infinity.
It makes us huddle together and step apart.

It is both a blessing and a curse, but it is neither an ill wind nor a tailwind; it is endless and always.

It calms or in its absence becalms; seen by its effects alone.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 11 September 2019