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The Wind's Call

I walk a winding road.
My surroundings, like my struggles, are ever changing,
Yet I face them — alone.

Winter’s chill brings ice into my heart.
The hail attacks me,
Striking me with small rapid blows.
I walk this path with my boots tied tight,
Through a foot of snow.
My progress is slow and muddled.
I walk alone.

Spring’s tears pour from the sky.
They soak my boots and dampen my soul.
The road becomes slippery and my boots slide on the wet pavement.
I walk alone.

Summer’s sun scorches me.
Skin burnt, lips cracked from dehydration,
I trudge on.
My boots slice through the heat
Like cutting through a thick pound cake.
The air on my path has substance;
It is thick.
It weighs me down.
I walk alone.

Autumn’s leaves take suicide falls from trees.
They barricade my path.
My torn and ragged boots crunch over them.
They crunch over the dried and dead.
With each snap, a strand in my heart breaks,
Yet my boots walk on.

For I am not alone.


In the frigid winter’s storm the wind howls in my ear,
Shouting carols of hope.
Through the spring’s shower a gust sings cleansing into my soul.
During the heat of summer, a light breeze caresses my face,
Whispering of joy.
Finally, in fall, a whirlwind pushes me through the leaves of the dead,
The branches of the forgotten.
This wind exalts in salvation.

No, I am not alone on this long and winding path.
My boots and my heart may become wary,
But the wind’s presence never falters.
It always remains —
Guiding me along my path,
Bringing me home.



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