Yesterday, the winds blew through, causing the trees to dance and apples to drop from bending branches.
I see him standing in the bay, this child of mine whose heart has been churning these past few days.
Eyes fixed on swaying leaves.
And then he is out there, face lifted to the wind. I see his heart soar up to the top of the pear tree, and sway down to kiss the earth.
He sits on the porch, alone, for a time; brow pensive…as if listening.
I restrain myself from joining him, for he is hearing what I heard as a young girl. This is for his ears alone.
He returns to my arms and we watch the dance of the trees together.
“Sometimes, the wind sounds like…music.”
Oh, how my heart smiles.
“Yes, it does. I wonder what song it is singing?”
He ponders this but does not respond. And then he is off.
I watch the dance of the trees alone. Branches sway, bodies bend. I hear the music…it plays my song.
For how often do I feel this way, bending and waving in the winds of life? I’ve never seen the beauty of this dance until this very moment, too often I am afraid of breaking.
I am this tree. The winds lift me high and swing me down low. I ride this breeze, fearfully, joyfully…
Oh, the beauty of it all! The beauty of a life that hears the music of the wind.