Waters rippling
from windy gusts.
Enough wind
to move branches,
not enough
to turn dirt to dust.

I raged at the weather,
while she praised the Sun.
I wouldn't stop whining
until daylight was done.

A canyon broad.
A cavern deep.
Which is the one
where Bats will sleep?

A golden light
before the rain,
brought sunshine,
curing the pain,
of another grey,
and cloudy day.

The rain comes, driven
by an East wind,
rattling branches,
dropping twigs,
soaking the soil.

When Winter Winds
cease to be.
When Spring winds
chase the chill,
Summer winds scorch
the Earth,
as timbers parched,
raise their limbs
to escape the heat,
awaiting Winter snows..

Forth came the wind,
forced through the light,
anguishing those souls,
afraid of the night.

The night approaches
on tippy toe feet,
as the Sun gives up
making its retreat.

Day was done,
A setting Sun.
Darkness here,
And yet.
Somethings missing.
Where is
The Moon?
Is it,
At play,
Hidden by Clouds?

The wind in the Willows
plays new melodies,
while branches rub others,
the sound puts me at ease.