She chases wind, trying to catch it in her hands.
She grabs for it, but it slips between her fingers.
The essence, she feels across her face.
She hears it whispering her name,
but cannot see its direction, she cannot determine the source.

Its power is evident,
Its presence, undeniable.
But no matter how hard she tries
She can’t put it in her pocket
or lock it in her treasure chest.

Feeling it come, and feeling it go,
she knows not when it will return again.
The memory, she holds onto –  and
although she’s still chasing it,
the wind lingers only within her heart.