The Wind

I like the wind when it flutters and flaps bed sheets hung out on a line - I like how it sweeps patterns across fields of tall grass and sends whispers through the trees. I like to see its breath billowed in coloured sails blown across the bay, and how, in might, it hurls clouds of seaspray high into the air. But most of all I like the wind when it is all done and curls up into a drowsy calm and falls asleep under a warm afternoon sun.