Wind
37 Wind What can I say about someone who touches my bare feet gently, then fingers the curly down on my legs and arms, and finally ruffles the hair at the crown of my head, a gesture I’d never let another try—but wind, she’s okay. She whispers a little in my left ear, the right one, brushes my upper lip. Then she sends a cloud to give me a chill. She’s up there somewhere, performing interesting magic, enticing the elements to come together— the hydrogen twins with the oxygen girl, maybe even getting a flicker of electricity 38 out of the thunderheads gathering to the south, hoping they’ll spark a fire. The freest soul I know, she can shove us around or caress us in the most unusual ways. She is certainly exciting, but what do I really know about wind? ...
OR
