Faith, Folklore, and Friends

As for man, his days are like grass—he blooms like a flower of the field;  when   the wind   passes   over,   it vanishes,   and its place   remembers it   no   more.   But from everlasting to everlasting the loving devotion of the LORD extends to those who fear Him, and His righteousness to their children’s children—…Psalm 103:15-17

Sonnet to the Wind by Wanda Stricklin Robertson   Oh, Wind, I hear you scream outside my door. Why is it that you hurry on your way? Surely, you have taken this path before; Your unyielding breath refusing to stay. This endless travel would exhaust a man but you press tirelessly, time and again. Pushing to complete an ultimate plan that has no beginning, that has no end. Crashing waves and billows thunder your might; Seeds are scattered and great mountains are worn. You splinter buildings, make houses take flight, then dance with flowers when morning is born. Oh, Wind, you jester! You troublesome boor! Calm yourself and get away from my door!

Just because you have seen something doesn't mean you understand it. Maria blows the stars around, and sends the clouds a'flying. Maria makes the mountains sound like folks were up there dying . From the Paint Your Wagon soundtrack; They call the Wind Maria . The wind is blowing tonight, blustery at times as a cold front pushes in. It rushes past my bedroom window, and I wonder where its going, where its been. Did this gust that scatters yellow over the deck begin small, a whisper that soothed another? It may have been born much colder, growing gentle as it mingled with warm counterparts that had spent the day racing over the Gulf, giving rides to sea gulls, sprinkling sand on tanned bodies. The soft wind that gently supports the wings of a butterfly in Africa can travel across the Atlantic, feeding as it goes, then push ocean waters over entire cities, entire communities, entire lives, before it loses its energy. The same wind that is harnessed for electricity can be the refre...