Sitting on my bale of straw listening to the wind , and when it picks up and I instinctively look towards the woods searching for its eyes, as I would if someone was speaking to me. It speaks though without seeing, which makes its stories natural and not made up from what it thinks it sees. I have come to know that much of what is seen and heard is not what we think it is . Thankfully the process of trying to to determine truth from fiction is eliminated whn the wind speaks.
Conversing with the wind.
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