I remember {a soft breeze}

I remember being a small child, in a small house, in a large forest.

I remember my bedroom on a perfect spring day, an window open, a breeze, wildflowers.

I remember the air, even though I can not describe it, and I remember curtains blowing in that perfect breeze.

I have always remembered this scene and how perfect and hopeful it felt. 

Sometimes when a soft dry breeze blows across this flat landscape that I now inhabit I see a glimpse of it again, quickly in my mind.  It is a short scene wrapped in much hope.

It is hope that rides on a breeze. 

I do not always welcome the winds that blow here.  Harsh they blow sometimes.  Wild in the night, wild across the day.

But sometimes they are sweet and light and carry back the hope that lofted though my woods all those years ago.


With gratitude,
Joanna


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