I somehow lose my eyes in the endless stretch of the skies and the soaring birds, my senses losing itself in the music of the wind. They somehow awaken the poet in me, I can sit here all year long, lost in a music that doesn’t make sense to you, in a touch that ravishes my soul, awakening and exciting every vein in my body that you hardly even know and totally strange to. You don’t get it when I speak of the music of the crickets, the whisper of the winds filling my ears,erupting a volcano of words and gush of thoughts. I leave you wondering how and why but trust me they tantalise me, jarring me into an unknown pleasure I have no idea. Does it even make a difference to you to wake up to heavy downpour, dim light and thunder.Do you even understand my satisfaction of pulling back the curtains to see the pouring rain waiting out my window, enticing me in every sense of the word to draw me into its touch,it’s sparking touch. It’s bizzare but it’s inevitable. The rain, the wind, the skies have an effect deep in me that you hardly understand, one that is inextricably true. You don’t get it when I speak of being lost in a world that demands nothing but simply the relishing of the music, the effect and the touch. I wait for the rain, the tinge of pink, blue and yellow in the face of the sky and the soaring birds in the skies and you will never know why. You would wonder why?