High on Windy Air
by Jim Thielman

The morning winds uplift white gulls on high.
These acrobats of air, float on wild gusts.
I wish that I had feathers and could fly.

The patterns blown on water mystify,
like frost on glass or images in rust,
as wonders ride on feathers flying by.

This plodding life gets old, and still I try
to rise above old wounds to gleaming peace,
as moaning winds complain, and gulls glide by.


The frost on tangled tumbleweeds shines bright,
drink beauty deep and watch wisdom increase
and weave us into wonderous delight.

Energy flows through us like a wind.
We hear it best when breathing here and now.
I search and seek and sometimes even find.

Imagination harbors ways to fly
through moments made of magic and stardust,
where secrets sometimes twinkle in an eye.

Keep hope alive, and each day you’ll learn more.
With time, you’ll find the paths that you can trust.
Today’s the day for opening the door
and letting your heart sing and spirit soar.

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