Wind, An Enigma

At your very least, you're just a wisp, one barely notices you there. Except when summer sun scorches, and you blow a breath of fresh air! Where do you hide when not in use? Do you sit upon the leaves? So you can rustle them oh so softly, like raindrops upon the eaves. Or, do you mingle among the clouds, urging a shy one to try to belong? Then lift the birds to soar to new heights, as they honor you with their song. You're great at blowing snow in our eyes, ice crystals that cling to our face. Or whooshing up a duststorm now and then, with tumbleweeds you love to chase. I've seen you when you were hesitant, unsure of which way you should gust. Then you'll blow both north and south, a magician, you choose both at once! I've heard you whistling in the dark, but surely you're not afraid! Because I've heard your bluster and shout over arguments you probably made. I like you best when you're balmy and soft; when robins can ride on your breast. And you sing your lullabies gently so the weary world can at last rest. Yet, Wind, you remain an enigma: at once furious and serene. You play your dual roles perfectly. It's just hard to know what you mean.