The Forest Wind

The breeze flys overhead, her bold bleached wings stretched across the sky, as she drags her fingers through the treetops, leaving them juddering in her wake.

She has her own distinct voice. Sometimes she whistles an off-key tune. Sometimes she whispers, sharing her secrets with the pines. Sometimes she roars, tearing saplings from their roots in her anger.

She is gentle yet voliatile. In her palms she cradles the birds and the bats and the butterflies and the bees and every creature to ever grace the sky. Yet she can pull ancient oaks clean from the earth, leaving them to decay amongst the undergrowth.

She is never gone, even on days so still that even the seed pods fluttering in the air seem stuck in place. She is just further from earth,  allowing the mother sky to comb her platinum blonde locks with her ultramarine fingers. Floating, resting, waiting patiently to make her return.