The Wind: a poem

Staff Writer
The cold wind crystallizes my breath and turns my fingers to ice,
Making me stiff and unfeeling;
It whirls the snow up next to me that induces the small flakes dance,
Winding them in the distant sun that makes the sky seem white.
It glides down towards the trees below;
The cold wind gets lighter there,
And the sun flashes into a world of deep greens and moves parallel to the soft earth.
It travels between the thick trunks of the trees and brushes against stones of clear waters,
Carrying the scent of sunlight and clean leaves.
It causes the deep ocean to tumble in strategic direction,
Pushing the waves into deep bends and mixing its shades of blue;
Clouds of gray disperse into the misty sky,
Accompanying the cool wind that propels them.
It lifts troughs unto sun-kissed shores,
Bringing both thunderous storms and the calamity of serene waters.
Maybe it’s in the power of its variety-
Or how it converges with different worlds-
But the wind never ceases to stay still,
Never leaving a scene untouched.