She wanted to know what wind was for.

On the island which stirred underneath the feet. Or,
Does wind wish to be of the earth?

Would oceanic be another sister?

Is survival interesting as always was & will be?

She once found solace for several years.
Before she shaved her hair in the heat without wind.

The scarf bound tightly a perceived protection.

Someone could leave streaklines. Walls
do hold the anemometer windows measuring promise.
Each day nothing seems to blow.

Gentle breezes deceive anyone who faces the other way
inland or outing the change of direction.

Maybe we're all wind.
Whatever that's for.

- See: Writing

:: note :: ... in a time when no wind blows ...