In the beginning, it was the wind.
Endless, restless — speaking in a language older than us.
Up in the mountains, the sky stretched wide,
and we slowly followed the light.
She moved like someone who knew the wind personally.
And they spoke —
of love, of loss, of things we don’t usually say out loud.
And I listened.
Part of an ongoing practice — witnessing more than directing.
With Ushana, in the mountains. The wind did most of the work.
With Ushana, in the mountains. The wind did most of the work.