Blown Leaves

Where does that constant, subtle patience of this motion come from?
It’s birth must be a continueous calm and conscience decision.
Never quite the same from different substance.
Always a different direction or degree from one stupid movement.
Listening to the words and advice.
Trying to understand the language of each instant..
So soothing and alive….
Never sure of the path ahead or the temperature of the mood…
Skin that deals and dampens with a touch…
No complaint. Thirsty for growth and love.
Days and nights have passed.
Blooms are gone yet seeds have not yet touched the earth.
SEEDLESS we are….
Seeds are moments upon us that choose the path as they want..
Always aware of what is going on yet wordage seems to blend.
Leaves as souls are blown by various winds.
Feel the breeze.
Catch your seeds.
But never……
Direct those winds.