Entertainment for the Wind

The wind flows like an invisible wave,
slightly shifting the ever-changing dunes,
and brushing the heat from your skin with its gentle touch.

​Its source is the long-deserted corners of the earth.
Ice palaces, natural monuments to time and the earth's creativity.
Towers of sand and stone, reliquaries of times long dead.
It whistles its way through our towers,
picking up tidbits of conversations to savor,
ready to be relieved on another day,
when the entertainment of humanity is more scarce,
and the landscape is bleak and grey.
It may even share its treasures,
with the gales and breezes that it meets along the way,
our borrowed words passed between invisible hands,
and given new life by the chiming-in of seagulls and sparrows.

​Think on it.
When we are long-dead,
our conversations may still be ringing out somewhere.
Maybe in whispers,
maybe screaming through the air,
but living on to lighten the burden of silence in some corner of the world,
​as entertainment for the wind.