Moving Air

I've been thinking these days in how sweeping things can escape from our eyes. Like the wind. And at the same time, I thought in its magnitude. We can't see the wind, neither by naked eyes nor by photos. It's therefore possible note its presence in the effects it causes wherever it goes. The wind is not to be seen, it's to be felt. You feel the freshness or the cold it brings. You feel its lightness or its force. You feel its intensity and hear its sound. It passes without being seen, but leaves marks wherever it goes. It renews the air, brings us the breezes that we need in dark days, brings us the gale of changes when we lose ourselves in our paths.

I see myself in the wind. I feel myself in the wind. I identify myself with the wind. I soften the heat and turn up the cold.

I'm just like anyone else. Nothing special. I have my good and bad sides. I have a hurricane that pulses my blood. I have the love breeze that makes me fall in love so deeply for Life. I have the tornadoes that make me really mad with injustices. I have the cyclones that confuse my thoughts.

I'm not the fire, nor the water. I don't start a burning, but just like the wind, I can propagate it. I don't end the thirsty, but I make waves. I'm not the Earth. I don't make the life flourish into this world, but I spread the seeds.