A Conversation

The wind and I had a conversation 
the other day
as I walked through a wildflower meadow. 
It spoke to me 
in the fluttering sounds of my skirt 
as it billowed in the breeze,
the feel of fabric caressing 
my bare legs in a dance.
The wind made the shape 
of runes with my hair, 
tangling across my face, 
the strands ecstatic to finally be 
unfettered, chaotic. 
The birds symphonized, 
their calls echoing 
across the open sky. 
My forest heart normally speaks 
to moss and root, 
branch and leaf shadow.
But this day, I learned the language of
open ground, room for 
the wind to truly breathe 
and sing.