Howling As It Does

Howling
as it does

so loudly and
cold -

just outside the door -

the wind cuts through
the air with a precision

making me forget
that she and the air
are always
only just about
each other;

sisters
of the same mother
distanced only by
a curve this way
and then that.

Tangling through the
pine needles, her fresh
blast always makes
me close my eyes to
what I see and enter into
an impression of
the landscape deep within.

An invisible force
bound up with the
elements of nature
takes us outside of
what we are doing -

and plants us deeper
into who we exist as
in the sense of "isness"
and "are".

Wind on the face
takes me over,

through the portal
and passage of
memory -

the rose leaves fallen
over time and

draping themselves
with dust as with
eternity.  It takes

me into the space
of wonder, and longing;

to the land of awe and
sheer abandon - losing
myself to the trail.