In the Wind

I sit down with my cup of coffee, my fingers hovering over the keys, ready to spill forth my prolific words. Only… They don’t begin their dance. My head begins to fill with all my recent experiences—so many experiences. Then… Something very familiar… and I let it happen… Because now I want it to happen. They blur into a silver mist. I drift through this fog gently, lazily. It is warm here. A breeze tugs at my clothes and hair playfully. The air is perfumed with clary sage, myrrh, Jasmine, and rose. I smile as I inhale slowly, letting my eyes drift closed. I begin to notice a sound. A very soft sound. Words? Music? Perhaps both. I hear it all in the soft whispers of the wind itself. It almost seems to brush against my mind, as if requesting entry. Though the sound is vague, the messages are understood. Understood because they are poetic somehow. With the intonation of every hiss and swish, The wind performs its own spoken word. A second sound begins to join the first. It sounds almost like the snapping of many fingers, and I understand as a few raindrops kiss my face, hair, and shoulders. After a little while, the smells, sounds, and feelings begin to slowly fade, and I’m back in my room. I smile, though it is somewhat bittersweet, as I take a drink of my still warm coffee.