The wind is there,

It's not hard to find and once found,

Much fun to play in.....as much fun

As the newly raked leaves of autumn in a huge pile,

Begging to be jumped in,

Or the first pile of snow that in my memory still contains

The imprint of this snow angle.

It was cold,

Unlike the leaves of autumn,

That white fluffy stuff did not scatter to all ends of the world

And the leaves were warm.

No parental figure scolding this snow angle for

Dastardly deeds, for any self respecting child would know

A pile of leaves ARE for jumping in.

They beg for it!

The wind is for jumping in too.

It scatters to the edge of my universe,

Remaining to envelope me

As I rush through its endless pile.

I think it's great

That someone raked all those loose bits of leaves together,

Just so I could jump in it

And leave my invisible imprint behind.

My wind isn't cold,

And no one minds it being scattered.

It embraces me for all that I am,

Patiently awaiting my return,

To scatter it again and again.

I do not know who

Keeps raking all those leves of wind together,

But I do thank them....

by James Johnson