I do love it so when the wind comes through & blowsover hills & vales... up the canyons from below.
That tangible breeze upon my face, caressing my neck & arms & legs,
rustling leaves & dying weeds... swaying towering pine trees.
The small frog must enjoy it too, 'cause on the deck below
his croak so loud & long... turns to a lovely song.
The water in the stream is flowing fast & furious.
The jays are chirping louder, the quail coo in the brush.
The breeze itself is singing as it blows by in a rush.
We cry to our Creator, 'Thanks' for this invigorating peace.
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