Mysteries like Symponies

Mysteries like symphonies hum in the current of his breath,
sidling along a leaf to expel it from its home, or uprooting an entire church from its plot.
There is a quiet chaos in the shadow of a breeze,
an unpredictability in its potential to loose your hair from its neatness,
without shame,
without apology.
Wind has no desire to make amends.
It can kiss your neck or burn your cheeks, but it will never apologize for what it was made to do.
It is not responsible for its effect, only its direction.
Its purpose is to move.

Moon Thoughts

The moon strays from twisted branches, their crinoline arms reaching out to strangle its freedom.

Wow. That sounds depressing. But really, tree branches are no match for the moon.