Chasing Wind

Rushing stories
from the north
blow by me,
dashing back and forth,

teasing, twisting,
telling me
their secret snippets
of fantasy

before dancing away
to spread more words,
in the ears of the children
and willows and birds

until everyone's thrumming
in their tandemic beats,
singing and spinning
and stamping their feet

in a rhythm which the world
thinks only they know,
even while the gusts
continue to blow.

And the music keeps growing,
the stories of mountain and sea,
and when I stop dancing,
I wonder what the wind sings of me.