Ways of nature, rumbles the lands, casting the winds that of oceanic waves. Flowing ripples of the passing seasons, painting all the world into the most common colors made for the four seasons of life, known widely to mankind.

Screams of gentle greens into the spring.

Humble rosy signs of summer.

Autumn dances the salsa in giggles of gold.

As the soulful but none less a broken song beneath the snow that blinded by sparkling white.

As animals set ways of living and death. Horses gallant just as the seasons. Bugs fly and found resting about the lands around.

To the skies, birds of pray, flew, marking the open high world as their world to hold. The echo of a soaring joy came by them. Signing all of any passing changes in season of greens, roses, gold, and white as always.

For the rules the kingdom of animals, never change. A shape in the mist forms all around, blending all, making all as one soul. Clouds fill, diming the sun’s aglow, casting hidden shadows of another world, all know as the nether realm.

Soft drops come, a touch in the rain, wetting the lands in a shine coat. Refreshing future task free of grime.

Where up from the spirit cosmos, they cry in happiness for in wildness you come again and stronger than ever before.

And in wonder to travels thus far in asking, as if to you and goes in such a way as this; you tell us what used to know in the past mistakes and the chances to fix them, in where others can only be done in secrets.

For what better ways to fix things, but by one owns way. As the animals would ask in return to the distance blood love kinship, as saying: you speak for all the fine wild things whose way were ours when the wind had wings, so let us carry what couldn’t be done.

Nature as always took it’s calls, filling the airs of changes and chances, over that of disappointments.

Within the wildness speaks, hear it, breath in, open one thy eyes wide, and see those wings of the wind.

When The Wind Had Wings by Bev Doolittle

Poem is use: A broken song beneath the snow, the echo of a soaring joy, a shape of mist, a touch in the rain, in wildness you come again . . . you tell us to know . . . you speak for all the free wild things whose way were ours when the wind had wings.

Year of when painted; 1994

Location of when painted; unknown

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