Wind in my Soul

I have a restless spirit. I possess an insatiable curiosity about what lies on the other side. An incurable wanderlust; a need to know, experience and learn about new places and people.

The wind drives this restlessness and makes my body a poor vessel for containing the bursting effervescent soul that yearns to be free to ride the wind to its end; to whisper in the treetops, flirt with hair and skirts, playfully skim across the waves as they march inexorably to shore, to chuckle among the rivers and brooks, to draw leaves out of their complaisence and make them dance, to whistle, scream and thunder around the plains, the golden grasses swaying like belly dancers to my whims. Sometimes I wish to be gentle, to caress the warm skin of an upturned face. Sometimes I wish to be strong, to usher in clouds and storms, to vent my anger or frustration and wreak a little havoc, to display my power.

As I stand in the wind, letting it blow through me, and around me, it sweeps me up on its journey. My soul dances, and aches to join the ride. I close my eyes and let myself be the wind in my soul.

And as the whimsical wind whips my hair and teases, my soul settles back in my body and grumbles. Oh, to be free!