I LOVE THE BREEZE
Whether it’s a hot desert wind, a cool autumn breeze, a chilly winter zephyr, or the comb of Spring’s breath – redolent with the scent of orange blossoms, fragrant honeysuckle, and new-mown grass.
I love to ascertain sunlight sparkle like shiny gems in motion, of the windblown leaves of trees.
Pride fills my heart when our nation’s flag furls like waves upon a deep azure lake.
Under the recent summer sun, my body welcomes the errant breeze that lifts my hair and ruffles my clothes; cooling me because it blows gently over my salt-sweated body.
Cold winds, like messengers on an errand, bring the bitter clarity of a harsh winter season, and yet I embrace it. They startle the senses once they carry the scent of crushed snow, the tangy aroma of leafy pine trees, and therefore the beckoning scent of wood smoke.
Autumn brings with it the perfume of fresh cider, the spicy delight of pumpkin and sweet potato pies, ripened apples, and therefore the smoky remembrance of fall that wafts from leaves afire in iron barrels.
No matter the season, there’ll always be the wind; the Breeze that conveys a memory, a flash in time that holds a specific significance, a forgotten place remembered, a cherished vignette – a historic chapter within the book of your life.
We should be grateful for the Breezes that gift us such precious moments. How still our world would be, how vacuous, were it not for the Breeze.
~*~ Kathy Pippig
The day is sun-infused brilliant, with the combined warm climes of summer melding with the last eddies of Spring-cooled zephyrs. Bubbling, cottony fluff undersides of clouds are flat and darker than the billowy white tops.
The sun sprinkles liquid silver on all the shiny surfaces; babbling brooks, the slick leaves on trees and bushes, the chrome on vehicles parked along the streets and during a lot at the nearby park, over the brightly colored bikes of youngsters pedaling along a riverside path, and on the gleaming fur of dogs on a walk with their humans.
A breeze wafts over the green lawns and therefore the graveled path that borders the tree-shaded creek; lifting Spring’s fallen blossoms during a slow-moving dance. Swallows, blackbirds, and finch whisper their tales, and their songs are carried on a swirling zephyr.
In the sunlight and shade, everyone, young and old, experiences these magic moments that Mother Nature has created for, and shared with them. These are the thrill that nature gives us; sort of a chapter during a book that fills the story inspirationally, peace, and maybe, begets a spiritual awakening.
Nature is one among the voices of The Creator. And whether the message is gentle, like a summer breeze, or grand, as an excellent sunlit day – we are touched – because the Creator, through nature, speaks to us.