Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Wyoming Windmills
A gentle breeze blows softly across the back of my hand.
There’s power in that hand. 
It may accomplish much,
or nothing at all.
Hands, through the ages, have hammered, sawn, pulled levers and knobs;
building cities and towns.
Hands have harnessed the breezes.
The power of wind.
But wind, that unseen force refuses, to quit, to submit.
A timeless breeze continues.
It chafes my hand in passing.
A whisper of strength.
Wyoming Windmills

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