If it's ka it'll come like a wind, and your plans will stand before it no more than a barn before a cyclone

Pain is a pesky part of being human, I've learned it feels like a stab wound to the heart, something I wish we could all do without, in our lives here. Pain is a sudden hurt that can't be escaped. But then I have also learned that because of pain, I can feel the beauty, tenderness, and freedom of healing. Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.

Never forget:we walk on hell,gazing at flowers.

A sailor chooses the wind that takes the ship from a safe port. Ah, yes, but once you're abroad, as you have seen, winds have a mind of their own. Be careful, Charlotte, careful of the wind you choose.

A forest is not a wilderness, but a community of souls who speak to one another on the wind.

The language of God is color because, it's the only thing that everyone understands. And even if you're blind to the world you can still hear the color in everything.If you don't believe me, close your eyes and listen to the wind and feel it on your skin; listen to the birds as they call one another and feel the sunlight on your face.That's love and that's what color is and that is the language of God.

There are no roses in my yard: what wind brought you?But I suddenly come from far away. I was sick for a moment.No wind whatsoever brought you now.Now you’re here.What you were isn’t you, or else the whole rose would be here.

In the end, what will you fight for-- what got there first, what got there last or what has been there all along?

A fish cannot drown in water,A bird does not fall in air.In the fire of creation,God doesn't vanish:The fire brightens.Each creature God mademust live in its own true nature;How could I resist my nature,That lives for oneness with God?

Her eyes were of different colors, the left as brown as autumn, the right as gray as Atlantic wind. Both seemed alive with questions that would never be voiced, as if no words yet existed with which to frame them. She was nineteen years old, or thereabouts; her exact age was unknown. Her face was as fresh as an apple and as delicate as blossom, but a marked depression in the bones beneath her left eye gave her features a disturbing asymmetry. Her mouth never curved into a smile. God, it seemed, had withheld that possibility, as surely as from a blind man the power of sight. He had withheld much else. Amparo was touched—by genius, by madness, by the Devil, or by a conspiracy of all these and more. She took no sacraments and appeared incapable of prayer. She had a horror of clocks and mirrors. By her own account she spoke with Angels and could hear the thoughts of animals and trees. She was passionately kind to all living things. She was a beam of starlight trapped in flesh and awaiting only the moment when it would continue on its journey into forever.” (p.33)

I believe in going with the flow. I don't believe in fighting against the flow. You ride on your river and you go with the tides and the flow. But it has to be your river, not someone else's. Everyone has their own river, and you don't need to swim,float,sail on their's, but you need to be in your own river and you need to go with it. And I don't believe in fighting the wind. You go and you fly with your wind. Let everyone else catch their own gusts of wind and let them fly with their own gusts of wind, and you go and you fly with yours.

Let us dare to dream and shoot for the moon. Even if we don’t fetch the moon, a million stars may fill us with wonder. ("Happiness blowing in the wind")

When a soothing wind blows gently love through the thistledown of expectations, hope may inveigle the future for timeless care and tenderness to be anchored in a bay of good luck. ("Happiness blowing in the wind" )

She accepted it uncertainly. “This will help?” Without waiting for an answer, with that unsettling trust of hers, she popped open the lid and dug in her finger, smearing the slick substance on and around her mouth. Going outside of the lines, as he deduced she did with most everything in her life. When she was done, she looked absolutely ridiculous.Caine barely resisted smiling at her. “It will help immensely.

I want to hear the wind in the trees. Feel the sun warm my back. I want to see birds fly in a sky with no boundaries.

Initially they waited with hope, but as each hour passed, hope slipped away like the wind, the wind that as a small boy Ethan had once tried to capture with his tiny fingers.

In the fall of leaves,In the hustle of breeze,In the curve of streams, I foresee,Nature keeps more concealed,Than it lets us peep!

sometimes i don't know, which momentwhich cool gust of wind will come,and enchant metousling my hairand my heart, stirring...that familiar ache of poetry, which drop will kissthe old wrench in my soulreminding me, all over againi miss you better in the rain.

A JEWELRY STORE NAMED INDIAIf you hold this Dazzling emeraldUp to the sky,It will shine a billion Beautiful miraclesPainted from the tearsOf the Most High.Plucked from the lush gardensOf a yellowish-green paradise,Look inside this hypnotic gemAnd a kaleidoscope of Titillating, Soul-raising Sights and colorsWill tease and seduceYour eyes and mind.Tell me, sir.Have you ever heardA peacock sing?Hold your earTo this mystical stoneAnd you will hearSacred hymns flowingTo the vibrationsOf the perfumedWind.

I love to feel the temperature drop and the wind increase just before a thunderstorm. Then I climb in bed with the thunder.

You become a house where the wind blows straight through, because no one bothers the crack in the window or lock on the door, and you’re the house where people come and go as they please, because you’re simply too unimpressed to care. You let people in who you really shouldn’t let in, and you let them walk around for a while, use your bed and use your books, and await the day when they simply get bored and leave. You’re still not bothered, though you knew they shouldn’t have been let in in the first place, but still you just sit there, apathetic like a beggar in the desert.

You can grow like a tall tree, when you enjoy the sun, wind, rain, storms and the stars in the dark nights.

Only you can change your own world. No one else.

We suddenly arrived in this very lost and strange city. Somewhere in the middle of the mountains. We didn't know where we are. We were just heading back to the sea. When we walked trough the forgotten city in silence, something inside us changed. We lost a bit of ourselves too and gained space for something new.

Constantly stopping to explain oneself may expand into a frustrating burden for the rare individual, so ceasing to do so is like finally dropping the weights and sprinting towards his goals. Those who insincerely misunderstand, who intentionally distort the motives of a pure-intentioned individual, then, no longer have the opportunity to block his path; instead, they are the ones left to stand on the sidelines shouting frustratedly in the wind of his trail.

I know I’m not the only one whose life is a conditional clausehanging from something to do with spring and one tall room and the tremble of my phone.I’m not the only one that love makes feel like a dozenflapping bedsheets being ripped to prayer flags by the wind.

I spur my horse past the ruined city;the ruined city, that wakes the traveler's thoughts:ancient battlements, high and low;old grave mounds, great and small.Where the shadow of a single tumbleweed tremblesand the voice of the great trees clings forever,I sigh over all these common bones --No roll of the immortals bears their names.

A free spirit is not bound by this, that, matter, materialism or opinion. They sing, dance and flow on the wind - for they are at one with it. They are nothing and everything - void and expanse. Even space and time does not confine or define them. For they are pure energy itself.

I closed my eyes and turned my face into the cold wind. When I felt it swept along my skin there was no past. No future. Just now.

It's the questions we can't answer that teach us the most. They teach us how to think. If you give a man an answer, all he gains is a little fact. But give him a question and he'll look for his own answers.

A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things.

There was no wind which could have swept my thoughts away from my bositerous heart; not that day, not this day and not any other day

When everything seems to be going wrong with you, you must remember the airplane takes off against the wind

When people wind you up, just remind them what happens to a piece of elastic.

She decided to free herself, dance into the wind, create a new language. And birds fluttered around her, writing “yes” in the sky.

Close your eyes and turn your face into the wind.Feel it sweep along your skin in an invisible ocean of exult

The wind is blowing. Don’t bend if you want to please him.

The wind plays its own music.

We are in the process of finding out what filling billions of acres with huge wind turbines does to the global environment.

Yes, the wind came up--" Mrs. Sharpe began. She paused."And changed us all," Petra said softly.

How I wish I was like the water,Flowing so freely with every dropLet my every emotion wonder,No need to start, nor even stopHow I wish I was like the fire,Burning with every flame upLeaving a trace of hot desireAs a Phoenix raises its' wings upHow I wish I was like the earth,Raising each flower from the groundSeeing the beauty of death and birthAnd then returning to the groundHow I wish I was like the wind,Hearing each whisper, sound and thoughtA lonesome and wandering little wind,Shattering all that has been soughtOh, how I wish I was where you are,Not separated by empty space, so farIt seems like we're galaxies apart,But we find hope within our heartAnd how I wish I was all of the above,So I can come below and yet forget,The beauty of angels which come down like a doveAnd demons who love with no regret.

I see you better in music, I hear you better in wind, I feel you more in a flooding moonlight, that understands nothing, but darkness and silence.

and half of learning to play is learning what not to playand she's learning the spaces she leaves have their own things to sayand she's trying to sing just enough so that the air around her movesand make music like mercy that gives what it is and has nothing to proveshe crawls out on a limb and begins to build her homeand it's enough just to look around and to know that she's not aloneup up up up up up up points the spire of the steeplebut god's work isn't done by godit's done by people

It's like a nesting doll of imagination! It's like a painting of a painting! It's like the wind catching a chill from the wind, or a wave taking a dip in the ocean. It's like reading a novel that merely describes another novel. It's like music tapping its foot to a tune and saying 'Oh! I love this song!

Why the Egyptian, Arabic, Abyssinian, Choctaw? Well, what tongue does the wind talk? What nationality is a storm? What country do rains come from? What color is lightning? Where does thunder goe when it dies?

After that hard winter, one could not get enough of the nimble air. Every morning I wakened with a fresh consciousness that winter was over. There were none of the signs of spring for which I used to watch in Virginia, no budding woods or blooming gardens. There was only—spring itself; the throb of it, the light restlessness, the vital essence of it everywhere: in the sky, in the swift clouds, in the pale sunshine, and in the warm, high wind—rising suddenly, sinking suddenly, impulsive and playful like a big puppy that pawed you and then lay down to be petted. If I had been tossed down blindfold on that red prairie, I should have known that it was spring.

The true order is what the wind creates by scattering the leaves.

By the sandy water I breathe in the odor of the sea,From there the wind comes and blows over the world,By the sandy water I breathe in the odor of the sea,From there the clouds come and rain falls over the world.

The wind comes across the plains not howling but singing. It's the difference between this wind and its big-city cousins: the full-throated wind of the plains has leeway to seek out the hidden registers of its voice. Where immigrant farmers planted windbreaks a hundred and fifty years ago. it keens in protest; where the young corn shoots up, it whispers as it passes, crossing field after field in its own time, following eastward trends but in no hurry to find open water. You can't usually see it in paintings, but it's an important part of the scenery.

The sunlight, penetrating the gaps in the tall trees, plays chess on the gravestones, shifting slowly and thoughtfully across the worn old stones. The wind, like a hundred violins, plays perpetually in the topmost branches of the deodars.

Scholars, I plead with you, Where are your dictionaries of the wind, the grasses?

There are times when the unseen can be even more dangerous than what our eyes behold.

The sloshing of their hooves in the paddy field that I heard thirty yards away, my car door open for the breeze, the haunting sound I was caught within as if creatures of magnificence were undressing and removing their wings

The afternoon our story begins, the quiet parts of being alive were the busiest: wind unlocking Windows; rainlight nudging curtains apart; fresh-cut grass tickling unsocked feet. Days like this made Alice want to set off on a great adventure.

The endless ocean was his sole companion , and on some deeply sentimental level, it seemed sufficient. Almost apt. He aligned himself with Thoreau and Tolstoy, he felt like their peers. The kinship with nature devoted humans to a mythical state, a heightened persona beyond the reach of mere mortals. At least that was what he told himself on the lonely nights when insomnia played on his fears and the howling wind pierced through his soul.

Wind is wind.

Earth, water, fire, and wind. Where there is energy there is life.

I hear the Wind Woman running with soft, soft footsteps over the hill. I shall always think of the wind as a personality. She is a shrew when she blows from the north -- a lonely seeker when she blows from the east -- a laughing girl when she comes from the west -- and tonight from the south a little grey fairy.

With…love of wind, there is no surer test of genuine Nature instinct that this. Any body can love sunshine.

The sun rises, the sun falls, the wind blows and the birds sing no matter where you are. These are experiences that unite us all... something we can all enjoy together

First, the wind would rumble in the distance like an approaching river, then he would see grass bend, pressed by a great invisible hand. The dull rumble would rise in pitch to a swishing, lashing exultation, causing stalks to lie flat against the ground while the tougher branches of shrubs held themselves up and shrieked their defiance in the gusts. Then the first drops, cold and heavy, would plummet from the sky and burst on the ground.

A moment of peace and silence, breathing in and out the frigid air, watching daylight seep into the forest, hearing the first chatter of distant crows, the wind sighing over the snow and through the fir and pine branches and the twittering of chickadees as they flitted in little tribes from tree to tree.

Lords of fire and earth and water,Lords of moon and wind and sky,Come now to the Old Man's daughter,Come from fathers long gone by.Bring blue from a distance eye.Lords of water, earth, and fire,Lords of wind and snow and rain,Give to my heart's desire.Life as all life comes with pain,But blue will come to us again.

For the first time in four billion years a living creature had contemplated himself and heard with a sudden, unaccountable loneliness, the whisper of the wind in the night reeds.

There are mornings when, from the first ray of light seized upon by the eye, and the first simple sounds that get inside the head, the heart is convinced that it is existing in rhythm to a kind of unheard music, familiar but forgotten because long ago it was interrupted and only now has suddenly resumed playing. The silent melodies pass through the fabric of the consciousness like the wind through the meshes of a net, without moving it, but at the same time unmistakably there, all around it. For one who has never lived such a morning, its advent can be a paralyzing experience.

7 Up soda pop mixed with bright pink grenadine with a chemical-tasting maraschino cherry stuck to the plastic straw. It was one of those drinks marketed for children, but Mandy could see that she wasn’t the only adult ordering one. For some reason or other these old-fashioned restaurants always seemed to attract old ladies ordering strawberry Jell-O with whipped cream, truck drivers ordering “worms and dirt” (chocolate pudding with Oreo cookies squished over the top in a glass bowl, fruit-flavoured gummy worms over the cookie crumbs) and businessmen trying not to get syrup from their hot fudge sundaes on their neckties and tailored suits. Mandy figured that maybe they were all trying to grasp a time way back in the past when they were all little children, excitedly ordering desert for a special occasion under the warm incandescent light from above, cheerful and bouncing music filling their minds. Hurriedly she ate the food, paid the tab and hurried back to her car in the bitter wind, not wanting to stick around for very long.

If you move faster than the music, it will look strange; if you move slower than the music, it will look strange! Be like autumn leaves which follow exactly the rhythm of the wind!

Wind is the sacred music of the leaves; wherever and whenever the wind blows, over there leaves start their holy dancing frantically!

If the foundation of your house is righteousness then your wealth will not be like a cardboard house that collapses under a gentle blow of wind

Fly high... Where the only chill that cuts through you is the wind. Where your heart pounds from exhilaration not disappointment and after ascending through cloudy wisps, brushing your wings, there is only the clear blue horizon beckoning you forth....

When we love each other we are immortal and indestructible like the heartbeat and the rain and the wind.

When you pour out words from your heart to your lover, make sure they aren't on a paper vessel and lost to the wind.

I'm a sailor, Lettie, I go where the wind takes me. And it led me to you, didn't it? I was born ten thousand miles away, but the wind brought me to Barter, and now we're friends. We're on this boat for a reason.

When the wind is against you, like a kite, have your chord of faith rooted and you would fly highest ever.

There are always waves on the water. Sometimes they are big, sometimes they are small, and sometimes they are almost imperceptible. The water’s waves are churned up by the winds, which come and go and vary in direction and intensity, just as do the winds of stress and change in our lives, which stir up the waves in our minds.

Wherever wind visits, there it freshens the air; wherever wisdom visits, there it freshens the mind!

When you become a raindrop in your mind Thunder is the closest friend you may find Wind lashed trees, dark clouds, lightning or the dust Everything you will bear once you adjust

We need to stop using fossil fuels as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the two leading replacements of wind and solar have emerging health and environmental problems.

Utility electricity is a known hazardous biological toxin and the toxicity of it is increasing as it progresses into harmonic electronic power generation (Wind & Solar) and wireless radio frequency (RF) radiation smart/AMR/AMI meters.

The era of biologically toxic wireless radio frequency (RF) radiation and harmonic electronic power generation from wind and solar systems with their adverse brain modifying effects that can bring on irritable and aggressive behaviors has made it a bad time to be a police officer.

The top easily preventable health problems that I see in western societies are: 1. Eating chemically grown food. 2. Exposure to electronically generated harmonic energy from wind and solar power systems. 3. Exposure to harmonic energy from switched mode power supplies (SMPS) that come with modern electronic products. 4. Exposure to wireless radio frequency radiation (RF). 5. Light deficiency from an indoor lifestyle and Low-E double glazed windows. 6. Sound deficiency from heavily insulated homes that are devoid of natural sounds and are extremely quiet. 7. Pollen deficiency from living in man-made cities that are devoid of natural levels of pollen. 8. Natural radiation deficiency from living in homes that block natural levels of environmental radiation. 9. Open drain sickness that occurs when drain traps dry out and faulty vent valves that allow sewer gas to fill the home. 10. Drinking the wrong type of water.

The masses have yet to realize that generating your own electricity is a potentially hazardous activity to engage in.

And like my comrades, I too have tasted the bittersweet assurance that I would be okay with myself. And like so many others out there, I have given that dream away to the wind and its power over the trees.

The current generation of solar and wind power systems generally introduce instability into the electrical utility grid system with their intermittent power generation characteristics and electronically generated harmonic energy.

Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,For I would ride with you upon the wind,Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,And dance upon the mountains like a flame.

The only way he could have her was to shatter this stubborn faith of hers. In doing so, would he shatter her? "What has this god of yours ever really done for you?" She stood very still for a long moment, her back to him. "Everything.

If I provide for this life and turn away from the Lord, I am wise for a moment, but lost forever.

Wind and breeze are separated todayCrimson twilight denies to fade away Grass blades turn brown to match the soilWe pretend to smile at every turmoil

Sometimes it doesn't make sense- the short periods of time we get with the best moments and with people, or their outcomes from their choices.However, if we turn it over to the golden light that flies around us.The breathing wind of the evening promises that we will see the big picture in the hereafter with a new dawn tomorrow.Nothing is too small to be a mistake.

That had always been the beauty of the wind. It could only be seen through its actions, its effect on others. A gentle reminder that reality does not only exist in the seeable, the palpable, the understandable, but also in the figments and daydreams, the steadfast beliefs and unexplainable uncertainties. Reality is seen and yet unseen. Wholly and absolutely relative. The wind had taught him that.

She took another step. The simple motion of her moving leg was like a dance, the unexaggerated shifting of her hip entrancing as a fire. The arch of her bare foot said more of sex than anything I'd seen in my young life.

... ancient days of sorrowancient days of pain-heartaches of the pastslowly began to wane ...(from gleaning granules)

The wind and sky know that there is no joy in unlimited freedom

I will walk by myself and cure myself in the sunshine and the wind.

Life is like the wind on the ocean; if it is against you, it doesn’t really matter what direction it comes from or what direction it blows. It also doesn’t matter what you do or fail to do. So you are better off doing whatever you want.

I Have Learned Why People Work So Hard To Succeed: It Is Because They Envy The Things Their Neighbors Have. But It Is Useless. It Is Like Chasing The Wind....It Is Better To Have Only A Little, With Peace Of Mind, Than Be Busy All The Time With Both Hands, Trying To Catch The Wind

Looking back on my life, I sigh. The caprice of youth goes with the wind, I’ve no regrets.

Words are wind.

When grief impounds our thinking and eats our brains, it seeps through all the cracks of our daily living. Only the soothing wind of comforting words may counter the withering twilight and the frostiness of darkness. ("All the words he always wanted to tell her.")

Some words are wind, ser. Some are treason.

Words are wind, and the wind from Manderly's mouth means no more than the wind escaping his bottom.

Love is wind for the soul

The word of Mohammad is a voice direct from nature's own heart - all else is wind in comparison.

Words are like the wind. They will blow away your own footsteps but they also will blow away the footsteps and thoughts of others. Use them wisely and with care.

I'm the wave pushed by the wind, always receding before reaching the shore.

. . .our whispered words, faintly in the darkness, dissolvingwithin the trees—then, fleeting words of consolationwould not suffice if feigned, and flippant wordsconfessed reluctance—our wordswere meaningless uttered on the wind. . .

Not a single rumor whispered on the wind here. He was too high up for such lowly experiences, too removed from the mundane and the pain. For these few blessed moments the rushing sensations blew away his controversial existence. And he smiled.

I was tired in the evening yesterday. I felt drained by the last days outer conflicts. I felt separated from life. Suddenly I heard the wind blowing through the trees outside my open window, whispering a silent and playful invitation: "Do you want to play? Do you want to join the dance?" This playful invitation again joined my heart and being with the Existential dance. I was again in a silent prayer and oneness with life.

Everybody has a little bit of the sun and moon in them. Everybody has a little bit of man, woman, and animal in them. Darks and lights in them. Everyone is part of a connected cosmic system. Part earth and sea, wind and fire, with some salt and dust swimming in them. We have a universe within ourselves that mimics the universe outside. None of us are just black or white, or never wrong and always right. No one. No one exists without polarities. Everybody has good and bad forces working with them, against them, and within them.PART SUN AND MOON by Suzy Kassem

The garden was full of sorrowSongbirds and unusual winds whistled a rhymeClouds caused to appear and cast down darknessFor this was the first day the sun didn't shine

The breath of life is in the sunlight and the hand of life is in the wind.

It would appear that the blue sky is actually produced by the solar wind and solar radiation exciting air molecules to emit light, just like a neon lamp!

A friend is the wax that keeps the flame lit, an enemy is the wind that blows it out.

I long to drift through turquoise skies;race the wind in rampant flight.Ruddy chains have framed my eyes,they seize my heart and stain the light.

The exhilaration was hard to explain. It was a lonely feeling — a somehow melancholy feeling. He was outside; he passed on the wings of the wind, and none of the people beyond the brightly lighted squares of their windows saw him. They were inside, inside where there was light and warmth. They didn't know he had passed them; only he knew. It was a secret thing.

In the morning light, I remembered how much I loved the sound of wind through the trees. I laid back and closed my eyes, and I was comforted by the sound of a million tiny leaves dancing on a summer morning.

How many times did the sun shine, how many times did the wind howl over the desolate tundras, over the bleak immensity of the Siberian taigas, over the brown deserts where the Earth’s salt shines, over the high peaks capped with silver, over the shivering jungles, over the undulating forests of the tropics! Day after day, through infinite time, the scenery has changed in imperceptible features. Let us smile at the illusion of eternity that appears in these things, and while so many temporary aspects fade away, let us listen to the ancient hymn, the spectacular song of the seas, that has saluted so many chains rising to the light.

Come, fly with me!" cried the goddess, as she sped ahead of them, her extremities flaming with a comet tail of sparks in the supernatural wind. Her bubbling voice again echoed, her laughter bounced in the crystalline void, and she flew onward, unto eternity...."Stop!" cried Elasirr. "Come back with us to the true world, O Tilirreh!"At which the orange one laughed, throwing her head back, saying, "Oh, but don’t you know this is the one true world? It is but yours that is a pale specter, that is the dying place of dwindling truth?""Then come back with us, lady," whispered Ranhé, "and restore the truth as it once was.

The old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that I Should weep?

I am floating, I thought, completely without anchor, at the mercy of the wind.

. . . a wind howling began, which seemed to form all over the country, as far as the imagination could grasp it through the gloom of the night.

Imagination is a storm of emotions that has the power to sweep citadels into the wind.

I belong with the trees,the wind,the earth beneath my feet.I belong in the land of enchanting things.But mostly,I belong entwined in your kiss,lost,yet wild and free,pure bliss,like poetry.

The pools had been written onto the fields by the rain. The pools were a magic worked by the rain, just as the tumbling of the black birds against the grey was a spell that the sky was working and the motion of grey-brown grasses was a spell that the wind made. Everything had meaning.

I sit alone in a dead world. The wind blows hot and dry, and the dust gathers like particles of memory waiting to be swept away. I pray for forgetfulness, yet my memory remains strong, as does the outstretched arm of the oppressive air. It seems as if the wind has been there since the beginning of the nightmare. Sometimes loud and harsh, a thousand sharp needles scratching at my reddened skin. Sometimes a whisper, a curious sigh in the black of night, of words more frightening than pain. I know now the wind has been speaking to me. Only I couldn't understand because I was too scared. I am scared now as I write these words. Still, there is nothing else to do.

I? I am the wind,’ said Thowra. ‘I come, I pass, and I am gone.’ The strange feathers moved up and down, the strange voice said tartly: ‘And are your sons the same?’ ‘My son is the lightning that strikes through the black night. My grandson is light that pierces the dark sky at dawning.’ ‘Ah,’ said the first emu, ‘and we know your daughter is the snow that falls softly from above and clothes the world in white. You want but the rainbow — that is and was and never will be, and is yet the promise of life — and the glittering ice which is there and is gone: then you and your family will possess all magic.

If everything I possessed, vanished, suddenly,I'd be sorry.But I value things unpossessed.The wind, and trees, and sky and kind thoughts, much more.

I kept staring into the blackness of the woods, drawn into the darkness as I always had been. I suddenly realized how alone I was. (But this is how you travel, the wind whispered back, this is how you've always lived.)

In the wind that ruffles through the treesI can find thoughts of you whispering to me

Music gives inspiration...one that sounds windy with humming sound, such can put you in a trance, only to come back and discover some witty ideas.

...my heart rides the wind and my thoughts sail away - to a land below the horizon where I know you hide from me...

..snow gently settles like dust in a shaft - for one moment there is no one else - only the wind like the hiss of an ice skate ...

I used to walk out, at night, to the breakwater which divides the end of the harbor form the broad moor of the salt marsh. There was nothing to block the wind that had picked up speed and vigor from its Atlantic crossing. I’d study the stars in their brilliant blazing, the diaphanous swath of the milk Way, the distant glow of Boston backlighting the clouds on the horizon as if they’d been drawn there in smudgy charcoal. I felt, perhaps for the first time, particularly American, embedded in American history, here at the nation’s slender tip. Here our westering impulse, having flooded the continent and turned back, finds itself face to face with the originating Atlantic, November’s chill, salt expanses, what Hart Crane called the “unfettered leewardings,” here at the end of the world.

Stand strong, firm and rooted like a solid tree. Though distractions may cause you to waver, remain balanced and calm. Otherwise, you will surely snap in half and fall to the ground at the slightest hint of difficulty. Be a filter, not a sponge. Learn to remove unnecessary junk from your life before it becomes a part of who you are. Stand tall, stand proud, keep your eyes and your body focused. Otherwise, you will blow away with the slightest gust of wind.

Like vanishing dew,a passing apparitionor the sudden flashof lightning -- already gone --thus should one regard one's self.

Listening to intuition is similar to watching wind wiggle a pond. Allow the ripples to move you where you need to be.

Tis the old wind in the old anger,But then it threshed another wood.

With riddles as black as coals, and answers as invisible as our past, I can only depend upon the crest of the rolling wave I now traversed; a romance worshiped only by the dreamer in us all, a psithurism of trust making its way through the years of our ascension to one day climb above the kaleidoscopic canopy of this mortal coil.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and filled myself up with the breeze from the valley. Then I let it out slow so it could get back to its travels, with a little bit of me added to it.

A Kite in the Wind - with Love , Truth and Honesty - weathered A Wilderness of Voices, Through the Darkness, With Love

Rejoice with glitters of ashes tonightSparkling for moon's spiced silver biteUpon skin of darkness, loving night moreStorm begins unlocking cold wind's door

There were streetlights here, but they were so far apart and surrounded by trees that light dropped away to solid black between them. The skin on the back of his neck crawled as he became aware of the darkness. He didn't usually walk around after nightfall, but tonight he'd had no choice without his car. The wind lifted his hair, leaving him shivering; a voice in his mind chattered nervously.There was someone in my yard the other night...

An infinite, inscrutable blackness has annihilated sight! Where is our universe? All crumbled away from us; and we, adrift in chaos, may hearken to the gusts of homeless wind, that go sighing and murmuring about in quest of what was once a world!

Darkness moves like a pack of wild dogs.The wind moves like a wounded animal.The ground must be full of teeth by now.

A swirl of dust and dirt picked up from the shadows that fell over everything in this grungy corner of the world. The dancing movement was hypnotizing. The sand and grit had rested long enough to have drifted into obscurity. But fate had different plans, and this gust of wind had lifted them and turned their obscure and unknown existence into a chaotic tempest of action that could not be ignored.

Grace will meet you in the valley, and her song will carry you home on the wind to another sky filled with ethereal beauty unfolding and love everlasting.

The small launch bay was littered with debris. A powerful breeze tore at his black silk shirt as Kilroy made his way across it to the waiting shuttle, evoking a feeling like the fingers of fate were caressing his body. “The Hammer” stepped over the body of one of his fallen crew without a trace of care or concern. The air was rushing past him, like a wind, out into space through the wounds in the side of his ship. Fatigued and desperate, the Hammer was running out of options. His ship was a mess, holed in a dozen places, the life support systems failing. Weakened hull sections were collapsing in pressure bursts. The vibrations that shook the deck beneath him now were not from the engines that once drove her forward, but now from the explosions down below, tearing her apart.

Then the wind came in with Bart and blew the vase of roses from the table. I stood and stared down at the crystal pieces and the petals scattered about. Why was the wind always trying to tell me something? Something I didn't want to hear!

It was not a noisy wind but the kind that suggests something very big and thin fresh from the horror of Infinite Space.

Leaning forward in the chair, Harley squeezed out a controlled fart, so no one could hear it. This damn reception area was like a echo chamber. If he weren’t careful, it could reverberate around the hall like a shotgun blast.

Whenever you touch a poem that caresses your soul, breathe it gently for it might be the wind that perfects your life's goal.

I inhale and a zephyr enters my body. The earth tilts its axis, changing my view of the heavens. Two clouds appear in the shape of trumpets. They part and rays of sunlight burst in. The sunlight speaks, 'Seek a new experience.

She loves him sobut he didn't stay.The wind can't blowthis storm away.

You were the poem I never knew how to write because no words could describe the wind you cannot see, but feel.

Sometimes a man must throw caution to the wind.

Caress me sister wind and stop this hate.

A turmoil of winds rushed around him, spiraling up in to the air: he was thinking.

...I recall that day on the beach - the sand so brilliant, the clouds so massive, and the wind punishing your hair...

...we went to watch the waves that bitter day and the wind took your red cap and mittens - blew them into the sea...

...strands of your hair and tendrils of the wind spin into nothingness the memories of that day...

Tell Khan Drogo that he has given me the wind.

Fanatics are like debris following the course of the wind, they are swept around like sand, and convinced to believe in what they do not understand.

Dream Song:As my eyes Search the prairie, I feel the summer in the spring. Whenever I pause The noise Of the village.

Silence stands between the trees, waiting for the wind's roar.

A star shoots bleeding across the skyline, a companion to the black wind. Silence comes sweeping across everything.

Wind is on fire" - beautiful words. What causes the fire, what enhances it, and what finally extinguishes it by itself or by bringing in rainclouds, gets identified with it. Do breath and life have the same relationship with each other!

When your life feels like you're on a sailboat, with no wind to fill your sails, there are still choices. You can drop anchor and enjoy your surroundings. Start your motor, if you have one. Grab an oar and start paddling, or wait for the wind to fill your sails once again. There are always other choices while crossing the ocean of life…

For me, walking in a hard Dakota wind can be like staring at the ocean: humbled before its immensity, I also have a sense of being at home on this planet, my blood so like the sea in chemical composition, my every cell partaking of air. I live about as far from the sea as is possible in North America, yet I walk in a turbulent ocean. Maybe that child was right when he told me that the world is upside-down here, and this is where angels drown.

The stones were sharp,The wind came at my back;Walking along the highway, Mincing like a cat.

To a fireman, wind is a curse. To a sailor, wind is a blessing.

...the wind hums low with sweet exultation, sings its lullaby, while you sleep ...

SUMMERthe cattails swayand the bamboodances gently intothe brightness ofa happy day.

A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.

Collaboration is the essence of life. The wind, bees and flowers work together, to spread the pollen.

The wind is made of haunting souls that moan and groan in whistles and whispers. This ghostly choir chills the breeze and orchestrates a rise of goose bumps on my skin.

Oh, mightiest wind,wilt thou cease thy breathing inand hold thy exhales?

Other times when I hear the wind blowI feel that just hearing the wind blow makes it worth being born.

We are candles, I remember thinking, and the wind is rising.

While the train flashed through never-ending miles of ripe wheat, by country towns and bright-flowered pastures and oak groves wilting in the sun, we sat in the observation car, where the woodwork was hot to the touch and red dust lay deep over everything. The dust and heat, the burning wind, reminded us of many things. We were talking about what it is like to spend one’s childhood in little towns like these, buried in wheat and corn, under stimulating extremes of climate: burning summers when the world lies green and billowy beneath a brilliant sky, when one is fairly stifled in vegetation, in the color and smell of strong weeds and heavy harvests; blustery winters with little snow, when the whole country is stripped bare and gray as sheet-iron. We agreed that no one who had not grown up in a little prairie town could know anything about it. It was a kind of freemasonry, we said.

The wind went mute and the trees in the forest stood still. It was time for the last tale.

And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair

Thomas Merton, the Trappist monk, wrote that nothing can be expressed about solitude "that has not already been said better by the wind in the pine trees.

It was March. The days of March creeping gustily on like something that man couldn't hinder and God wouldn't hurry.

When I opened my eyes I saw nothing but the pool of nocturnal sky, for I was lying on my back with out-stretched arms, face to face with that hatchery of stars. Only half awake, still unaware that those depths were sky, having no roof between those depths and me, no branches to screen them, no root to cling to, I was seized with vertigo and felt myself as if flung forth and plunging downward like a diver.

The important concept of the solar wind is that Space is not empty. It is an energy and particle filled environment that interacts with whatever is in it! Astronomers call this 'Dark Energy'.

It was not a bed with curtains, but a bed with doors like shutters. This may not seem like a nice way of having a bed, but we would all be glad of the wooden curtains about us at night if we lived in such a cottage, on the side of a hill along which the wind swept like a wild river. Through the cottage it would be streaming all night long. And a poor woman with a cough, or a man who has been out in the cold all day, is very glad of such a place to lie in, and leave the the rest of the house to the wind and the fairies.

Dream Song of Thunders:Sometimes I go about pitying Myself, While I am carried by the wind Across the sky.

Have you ever noticed how as an adult, all the bright colors go out of your life? Now that I’m not a kid anymore, things always look gray, like a clothesline draped with laundry that’s been washed too many times and left to stand in the wind. I guess that’s what growing up is… it’s a fading photograph.

Dip your fingers n the spring stream or lift your face to the summer rains. Listen for me in the winter wind I'll come back for you.

Be still:There is no longer any need of comment.It was a lucky windThat blew away his halo with his cares,A lucky sea that drowned his reputation.

Like wind-- In it, with it, of it. Of it just like a sail, so light and strong that, even when it is bent flat, it gathers all the power of the wind without hampering its course.Like light-- In light, lit through by light, transformed into light. Like the lens which disappears in the light it focuses.Like wind. Like light.Just this--on these expanses, on these heights.

When the wind likes a path, the weeds around that path will tremble all day long!

And now, my poor old woman, why are you crying so bitterly? It is autumn. The leaves are falling from the trees like burning tears- the wind howls. Why must you mimic them?

When the path ignites a soul,there's no remaining in place.The foot touches ground,but not for long.

A cool breeze stirred my hair at that moment, as the night wind began to come down from the hills, but it felt like a breath from another world.

What a night it was! The jagged masses of heavy dark cloud were rolling at intervals from horizon to horizon, and thin white wreaths covered the stars. Through all the rush of the cloud river the moon swam, breasting the waves and disappearing again in the darkness.I walked up and down, drinking in the beauty of the quiet earth and the changing sky. The night was absolutely silent. Nothing seemed to be abroad. There was no scurrying of rabbits, or twitter of the half-asleep birds. And though the clouds went sailing across the sky, the wind that drove them never came low enough to rustle the dead leaves in the woodland paths. Across the meadows I could see the church tower standing out black and grey against the sky. ("Man Size In Marble")

The bleak autumn wind was still blowing, and the solemn, surging moan of it in the wood was dreary and awful to hear through the night silence. Issac felt strangely wakeful. He resolved, as he lay down in bed, to keep the candle alight until he began to grow sleepy; for there was something unendurably depressing in the bare idea of lying awake in the darkness, listening to the dismal, ceaseless moan of the wind in the wood. ("The Dream Woman")

Her laughter sounded like April showers, like whispered secrets, like glass wind-chimes.

The collar had restrained his winds but not killed them. They uncoiled from behind the shadows, ready to surround her, to lift her up, to carry her away with only Ariel’s silk-clad arms wrapped about her to keep her from fa

Similar souls wander in the similar places! They may not know each other, but often they touch the same winds, they step on the same leaves, their looks are lost in the same horizons!

When a powerful storm collides with a much more powerful storm, it will understand that his power was just a dust before the wind! You can be a giant only until a bigger giant comes and erases your existence!

beauty such as theirs was something with which one lived joyously — racing with the wind, with storm and snow, dancing in the frost or among the golden wattles, galloping, galloping in the spring sun. Life might be dangerous, with beauty that was so difficult to hide, but life was always and ever had been very, very good

Intriguing isn't it? One day you are the king of your world. And the next day, you stand aside, watching it all burn. Ashes slipping out of your hand, you just stand and stare, your glassy gaze fixed on something no one else could see, no one else could know...People will talk as people do talk. And they will walk over the ashes. And the ashes will dance in front of you, reminding you every second of what was and what might have been. And you will almost give in.But my advice is, don’t give in. Because one day, you will decide to turn the corner. Put it all behind you. Just stand strong and still as the great wind comes and takes all the ashes away with with it, leaving fresh air behind. Fresh for you to make a new world, a better world.

They were the prisoners hidden in different cages, and yet they saw each other every day. He named her fire and she named him the wind, the day they both touched and embraced each other they burnt down everything that stood in their way.

Asleep she was a painting of a fire. Awake she was the fire itself

And all the winds go sighing, For sweet things dying

What is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?

Autumn colors remind us we are all one dancing in the wind.

Behind every successful flight, lies the will, full of thrust, against the wind; the will to win.

We can give happiness a chance: happiness is learnable. Life is a choice and happiness is a question of focusing, hearing and seeing the right things behind the appearances. It is a matter of finding out, differencing worthiness and irrelevance, connectedness and distantness, warmth and aloofness, brightness and dimness. Happiness is the lucky potential to steer friskily along the cliffs of the unknown avoiding the obstacles of narcissism and conceit. ( " Happiness blowing in the wind. " )

There’s always books. And the wind through trees.

When the north wind blew across the tar ponds, voices were carried away.

I would give my lungs to the fish so that they may rise out of the water and feel the wind.

fingers of wind combed the lake into ridges—icy palm prints glistened wherever it rested

Here you are. Would you like some pickles?”“Pickles gives me the wind something awful.”“In that case—”“Oh, I wasn’t saying no,” Mistress Weatherwax said, taking two large pickled cucumbers.

Just then, down through the last glimmer of twilight, stepping high and free, like a cloud, a moth, a ghost in the shape of a horse — came the Silver Stallion. Wild, beautiful, and free as the wind he came, from one kingdom to another, Thowra

The daemon wind died down, and the bloated, fungoid moon sank reddeningly in the west.

Once lively peonies nowwind-weary, and ragged at the edges, hang their heavy crowns; rain on their backs,one final act, beforedetaching from the stemand falling down.

The sky's inclemency stirs up the angry winds;the watery clouds are soaking with ceaseless rain.The turbulent Vltava, swollen with rainy waves,Bursting, impetuous, breaks through its river banks.

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.

Winter teetered on the verge of succumbing to the returning sun, but today the breeze still preferred the touch of snowflakes

~Seasons of Life~When the sunburn I blind,When the sky showers I cover,When the wind blows I blanket,When the death calls I undergo,When would I experience the nature?

...this beginning motion, this first time when a sail truly filled and the boat took life and knifed across the lake under perfect control, this was so beautiful it stopped my breath...

The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.

So fine was the morning except for a streak of wind here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea.

Music burst through him, perfect notes he hear rarely. Fire and ice, wind and calm, sky and earth, water and rock all fused together. Joley seemed as wild and turbulent s the sea, yet beneath her fiery passion, at the very core of her, she was as forceful and strong and as constant as the deepest ocean currents. Ilya seemed as calm as a windless sea, yet beneath the surface smoldered a volcano of such explosive magnitude, his power could easily sweep everything from his path. Together they completed each other, his melody and hers merging together into a single, perfect harmony.

Wind blew snow crystals back and forth between the graves. The ancient pines creaked overhead.

You have to feel the bite of the wind to appreciate the warmth of a winter coat.

I've lived to see my longings die"I've lived to se my longings die:My dreams and I have grown apart;Now only sorrow haunts my eye,The wages of a bitter heart.Beneath the storms of hostile fate,My flowery wreath has faded fast;I live alone and sadly waitTo see when death will come at last.Just so, when the winds in winter moanAnd snow descends in frigid flakes,Upon a naked branch, alone,The final leaf of summer shakes!

Along with rising and falling water, winter is the province of wind. When the sea-breath and mountain-roar bend the hemlocks of these hills, the birds hang on as best they can.

Samuel finally understood the sound of the wind after all these years: The winds were a chorus of the prairie’s ever-present heartaches.

just find your way, like a river settling into its bed, and the sigh of the wind over a lake, light but restful... content with the joy in the arc of an arm throwing a ball for a dog to fetch

.... just find your way, like a river settling into its bed, and the sigh of the wind over a lake, light but restful... content with the joy in the arc of an arm throwing a ball for a dog to fetch, the ease of the grassy slope stretching away, birds in the trees singing sweet high notes, flowers growing close in the ditch.

Many people are trying hard to be invincible, and most of the time they fail invisible, while few find their spotlight. But the remarkable person is one, who can be both invincible and invisible at the same time.

I listen to the sound of India's voices for the last time . Laughter ripples like water . A prayer is a single note held long . There is so much life here . And too much death.I feel a soft brezze caress my face and I look up. An orange ribbon is floating through the air . In India , it's easy to see the wind .

Death can ride the wind,and he can also walk the streets,looking for those listed,or those he accidently meets.A touch or a whisper,the smell of his breath,it's what lets us know,he beckons that we're next.And hide he doth find,in a closet or a chest,because our days were numbered,'cause death doesn't jest.

You must take personal responsibility. You cannot change the circumstances, the seasons, or the wind, but you can change yourself. That is something you have charge of.

The plants and flowersI raised about my hutI now surrenderTo the willOf the wind

be the calm eye of the storm where nothing phases you, focus on your centre to remain balanced, let your life flow like a stream of wind

You like the wind? There is no wind? Start running! Create your own wind!

People usually seek to join a religious system in order to gain the eternal bliss and freedom of the soul. But belonging somewhere; anywhere is not freedom. Free is the wind. You need to become the wind, not wanting to know how and why, but only to experience this quality of freedom that leads to the original “religion”. There the soul is finally ONE and aligned with anything.

Afterwards, I will have to tie the trees to bamboo poles so the wind will not determine their shape. A tree cannot be given form by the vagaries of the wind.

A strong wind was blowing and it felt really very cold and seemed so unfamiliar and bizarre. But the trees remembered me. They bowed gently in the breeze…and called me nearer, welcoming me.

I stroke the bleached bones of ancient trees felled long-ago by industry or cold desperation and wonder of another almost summer when two fell asleep beneath her arms, curling into each other like wind-swept branches on the edge of tomorrow ...

But you can't plead with autumn. No. The midnight wind stalked through the woods, hooted to frighten you, swept everything away for the approaching winter, whirled the leaves. ("The North")

Wind warns November’s done with. The blown leaves make bat-shapes, Web-winged and furious.

A gust of wind rattles the window, and I look out. Leaves are whooshing all over the place, flying past horizontally as if they have engines of their own.

The only way he could have her was to shatter this stubborn faith of hers. In doing so, would he shatter her? 'What has this god of yours ever really done for you?' She stood very still for a long moment, her back to him. 'Everything.

An ill wind that bloweth no man good - The blower of which blast is she.

Who walketh upon the wings of the wind.

Blow wind and crack your cheeks. Rage! Blow!

Sweet and low sweet and low Wind of the western sea Low low breathe and blow Wind of the western sea!

He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight for a few seconds. Hisbreaths tickle my ear, and I close my eyes, letting myself finally relax. Hesmells like wind and sweat and soap, like Tobias and like safety.

Why do you chase the wind?