The morning air is shifting its weight, Moving through the open gate. A thousand faces, a thousand names, Flicker like these candle flames. We meet on a corner, we part in the mist, A world of moments that barely exist. The gold in the sky, the chill in the bone, We’re never together, we’re never alone. Every breath is a bridge we cross... Oh, it’s the wind, it’s the constant flow, Carrying seeds where the wild things grow. The wind keeps moving, moving on. Yesterday’s heat is a memory now, A cooling touch upon the brow. We’re travelers holding a handful of sand, Watching it slip through an open hand. What we keep and what we lose, Both are carried as we move. No destination, no grand design, Just a ripple crossing a jagged line. It’s beautiful because it’s fleeting... Oh, it’s the wind, it’s the constant flow, Carrying seeds where the wild things grow. The wind keeps moving, moving on. Softly folding time away.
