The wind blows with no purpose. It feels nice, and makes the day more bearable. Although it seems to blow hard, Although it moves my shirt & paper. it does not care. It blows because it should. A chore. A motion. The wind blows with no purpose. And suddenly it picks up. I feel it run past me- through my dog's fur. It found reason, and cradles me in its chaotic potential. The wind knows its strength.
This poem is about: