The wind blows where it may –
how it musses my hair, it has no care.
I hear its sounds, its ricochet –
but how it’s understood, it will not say.
From where it comes and where it goes –
I cannot grasp, this great unknown.
Until that day I drop to my knees,
surrender my self with genuine pleas –
then and only then will my birth be in Life
flowing with the wind, each day and all nights.
How can this be, the wise one may query,
only through Me, comes the Voice from the tree.

Painting by Kate Esplen