|Can almost see it moving here|
Don't need a weatherman to tell which way the wind blows. Bob Dylan said that.
|Laid horizontal by a tiny puff|
|Now golden in the sun|
Things I get to do today on this hot afternoon surely include sitting back in the shade.
As I pray for a bit of wind, the Feather Grass sends me hope, registering even the slightest breeze. And while it drifts, wafts, glides on a breath, my soul is soothed. All is well.