Froggacuda's Weblog

the wind is always flowing going by.
moving, testing, pushing, brushing past
around the corners of my eyes.
teasing, breathing secrets like shivers in my ears.
tickling my hair, turning me around to see who’s there.
punching holes in my clothing,
always coming and leaving
merrily and mischievously.
the wind whistles tunelessly, madly
at the corners of houses,
calling the clouds to come play hopscotch.
graceful, insistent, invisible currents;
curious why we don’t fly.