Birth

She held the wind by the tail,
And although it whipped and flailed uproariously,
She weaved it carefully and steadily. 
I could not see cleary through the mystery,
and had to sheild my eyes from the gale. 
But She stood calmly and serenely, 
Encased in an unnatural silence, 
Her hair and her dress in a wild dance about her.
Her fingers worked with patience and precision, 
And the wind lessened and lessened. 
And soon She had weaved the wind into a wonderous work, 
Too improbable to speak of, 
And yet, that is the very nature of things. 
She then called to me, and introduced me, 
Both casually and formally, 
To a little boy.