BECOMING THE WIND

In the garden

the sun passed the day to the moon

passionate night

turning to dawn

The never ceasing ripple

of the creek water passing

as the birch leaves clap

you stroll with me

Through the meadow

the gentle sway of the grass

as the golden finches dart

we walk our path

At the hilltop gazing

East our spring

South our summer

West our autumn

North our winter