A Fallen Afternoon

The wind blows with no purpose. 
It feels nice, and 
makes the day more bearable. 
Although it seems 
to blow hard, 
Although it moves 
my shirt & paper. 
it does not care. 
It blows because 
it should. 
A chore. 
A motion. 
The wind blows 
with no purpose. 

And suddenly 
it picks up. 
I feel it run 
past me- 
through my 
dog's fur. 
It found reason, 
and cradles me in 
its chaotic potential. 
The wind knows 
its strength.
This poem is about: 


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