I stand solitary, the world rushing past me; tempting, with the currents of life.
Thrusting through my flesh to the marrow of my soul.
The sighing of this breeze blows not gentle or loving, still it moves me, tugging at the fabric of my life, swaying the trees of my faith.
A reminder that there is little to be done with a tempests power.
Head back, arms wide, I embrace the wind, allowing my body to strike against it.
Trying not to spill the water of my life over this mass of clay called flesh, to there melt and flake with the rising of the winds of change.

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