The Wind Blows

. . . and the wind blows

pushing the blue bird

higher   farther

past raindrops and darkened clouds

into a valley of golden sun     where

rainbows dance in her dulcet eyes

where worries wander away

and new days are hatched

. . . and the wind whips

clearing out the old

 preparing for the new

mixing the earthen mulch

from a fallen past   into

an unmade bed of fertile ground

A morning mist fills the meadow

dew drips off the first spring daisy

beauty overcomes me    

I hold her ever gently in my arms

watching

. . . as the wind blows