Disappearing Winds

This. This is my happy place. Right here. Surrounded by green and blue, tree and sky, mountain and water, we have finally arrived. Where we are, we know not. But here we stand, knowing from where we've come, what through we've traveled, but blind as to the why. The stars still light the sky here. Even with no moon, the nights are bright. I am not the first nor the last to have noticed, though, that this place carries a strangeness hidden in it's grace. By a certain time each night, before the last have turned to bed, the wind simply vanishes. Regardless of the wind of day, the gusting of early evening, a tidal wave of silent sky washes into this place and over us, forcing out all winds, always when night feels of it's deepest cold. Of course, if a great storm billows by during the hours of darkness, nothing may stay such winds as those. But once noticed, we have found the rhythm of our nights too unusual to deny. And so I say, you disappearing winds, carry with you each day's trials and tears, it's blisters and bruises, it's weight and worry and it's fears. Keep them there away with you, wherever you steal away to each night. Hiding in wait, resting for return with rising sun and opening eyes, ready for a new day, in this new here.