While the wind rises again.
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I walk on, like time itself.
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Stories remain untold, left for time to whisper.
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Under fierce sunlight, her gaze stays soft.
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Troubles are small, so I let my smile through.
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The wind brushing my face gathers all forest musicians.
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In a rational world, preserve some space for emotion.
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After a long journey—the world behind, myself ahead.
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Light as the wind, steady as the soul.
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Lightly, flourishing, and fifty.
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If it weren’t a little late, how would we meet?
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