The leaves begin to rustle.
Like a restless old rodent,
awaiting his impending end.
The winds of change doth deliver,
thus a message across the land.
The twitching continues,
as eternity blinks,
a storm, or just a warning.
could it be a storm?
Bodies begin to scamper,
as thoughts begin to change.
To some, it brings reminiscence;
where to some, a premonition.
Consciousness wavers, tensions build.
Prayers ring the air.
Do the winds carry them to the Listener?
“Protect us, let it not happen”
Would nature stop in its tracks to save us? Why?
The winds die down,
anxiety gives way to rejoice.
Must we thank the Listener now.
“He saved us, stopped the storm.”
Had the storm been stopped,
or was it just a passing breeze?
