I long to hear the ancient wind that sighs
throughout the tops of old forest trees
and fills the primal canopy of leaves
with melancholy echoes—hollow, high.
The history of the world is in this wind.
The force we cannot see is yet so vast
it’s touched every present, every past
and secret since before the dawn of man.
To hear the wind’s bellows fill the sky
is to feel its lungs breathing me toward home
and memories deep within my bones,
without fully comprehending why.
As mysterious as Stonehenge, this old wind;
and so I lift my face and breathe in.