A swirling it goes. I blows this way, and then that. Saying hello to the passerby. It cannot be trapped or tamed. Once I feel I have it cornered, I find it blowing behind me. It's a mystery. A going out and coming forth. Swirling, dancing, calling, yet found in silence. The violin and instruments accompany it, yet can never fully define it. The drummer drums to its beat, and yet walks away knowing she has only serenaded the mystery for a time.
But it is generous. Just because it can't be trapped doesn't mean it isn't good. Rather, it is the foundation of all that is good, of all that is. It's only that it's foundation is so deep, that we can but skim the surface. But lo, we have all eternity to fly its skies. To swim its oceans. To dance with it on mountains. To be carried by its breeze. So lost in flow, with the invitation of all eternity.
