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Teasing Breeze

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The teasing breeze sifts through the trees cradling each leaf with affection. She lovingly caresses each blossoming bud, every tender twig, with her soft sweet touch. As close kin to Nature, she harbors a natural tendency to mother – no matter what creature, the large and small – with passion and ardor she pleasantly makes her rounds; circling the globe and tending to all. Every creature welcomes her touch and takes delight in her presence, basking in the service she freely gives as she pleasantly assists creatures to run and riot, to swoop and soar, to frisk and fly as freely as the Breeze herself – for though renowned as a teaser, she imparts with love and grace her many gifts and talents equally, favoring none: she blows to the east, the north the south and west, singing her cantering tune as she expresses her thoughts and moods in empty holes and spaces, ever whistling through caverns and divots and dips, winding through dusty canyon roads and lightly tinkling through porch step wind chimes, lightly ticking the air as she streams through the dusky eve. Her simple serenade speaks to the soul. How wonders never cease – it amazes me that every person, from every corner of the earth, is able to perfectly comprehend the words of the Breeze’s evening ballad. She speaks to all who care to lend an ear, expressing her mind in a language we all understand perfectly. It is interesting to note the many dialects of the Breeze. One day, she will speak with a French accent – gliding and sweeping with polish and grace, lilting through dales, pines, and tousle-tipped ferns – next she is a proper British, speaking with direction and audacity, trotting along through the freshly clipped grass with purpose and poise. No one ever speaks back to her while she has on this hat; no one questions her judgment or wonders her wanderings – though the ornery North Wind on occasion has a thing or two to say… One day she is African; you can hear her smile as she teases her way through the rays of sunshine, bounding from place to place, like she just told a joke – speaking with enough humor to persuade the dandelion to release his hold upon his precious posterity, chuckling as she does so. Now, she switches to the choppiness of Chinese – up and down her voice goes, jumping from octave to octave without any apparent pattern –bursting through the serenity of a quiet day, chattering gaily and changing course without a hint of warning – crinkling the clouds, causing them to fold up, much like origami. This Breeze is a lovely thing – with a voice as sweet as sugar atop a tea cake; with both the ability to adorn the hills and crests with fresh gales of song, she is able also to whisper quiescently in faultless harmony with the voice of the aspen leaves. She lightly sings her ballad while strumming lightly upon the evening light, carrying her soothing tune, permitting it to flow and cradle every sunbathed leaf while gently toying with Nature’s luscious locks.



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