windy

I used to love sitting in the tree in our front yard. It had a little seat-like perch that was perfect, and no one else could get into the tree, so it felt like my special place. I put a notebook, a pencil, and a little handmade cushion in a ziploc bag and left it there for my tree time. My mom just discovered the bag again this week, and I read through the notebook full of story ideas, drawings, and tallies of the colors of the cars that drove by. This is one of the poems I found.

“Windy”

The wind blows past me,

Around and through me, 

I am now one with this tree.

The wind dies down,

Falls to the ground, 

In peaceful still, leaves me. 

The branches away, 

The wind will play, 

It sings a merry song.

Rambunctiously,

It plays with me, 

This tree dances along. 

My hair is blown,

Merrily thrown,

About my wind blown face.

It comes and goes,

So no one knows,

Where it began its chase.