The life that oozes out in small strips of minutes often gathers courage, braces up, chugs, and starts a soft run home... and then the wind blows. Time heals old wounds and makes ways for new ones to grow... and then the wind blows. In hurried glances, I look at those who chose to stay behind, ensuring that they stay there... and then wind blows. Every time I have a page inked, I turn a new leaf to begin anew, and the wind blows. Every time I keep the beads aside and chose to bury the dead, the wind blows!