What Remedy

What remedy, I ask to no one in particular,

is there for discontent?

And the wind sweeps by whispering

'be like me, be like me! '

It doubles back and washes over with its gentle breeze,

lifting a tendril of my hair cooling my brow.

I've tried that though, drifting from here to there,

and so it can be thrilling to sweep in and out,

know people for a bit – drift around them a beat and move on,

but perhaps what I haven't fully grasped is how to be still.

'Stillness?

Bah! ' says the wind, 'who needs it? '

'I do.' a murmur from across the way

I look out into the parking lot from my perch on the Starbuck's patio,

and there on a tiny island of wildlife, I see a single tree.

'Bah! ' again says the wind, 'You are not so still.'

And with this it sweeps out and about the tree,

in and among it's branches, which begin to shimmy and shake.

'You see! ' says the wind coquettishly.

And the tree giggling in the delightful dance, says to me,

'You fool we have no answers for you,

Just Be! '



© August, 2005, Starbucks Cafe, NE Fremont, Portland, OR