I like this wind from the north with blue egg of a sky, where the clouds that fly high as horsetails glide slowly.
It’s just my senses announcing to my face that this north wind slides going through my soul on the way south. Where a tropical palm will caress into warmth, what remains of a faraway breath of buffalos still linger on the edge of this wind.
Will the palm remember held high to this egg shell blue sky. Will the horsetail clouds become iridescent mermaid clouds.
As the brush is dipped like this wind upon my face painting colours from earth upon the egg shell of sky .