When the Breeze Speaks

The breeze comes softly,

Like a thought you didn’t invite,

Yet somehow needed.

It slips between moments,

Brushing past worries,

Untying knots you didn’t know you carried.

It moves through open windows,

Stirs the curtains like quiet waves,

As if the room itself is breathing,

Alive for a moment longer

Than silence allows.

The breeze remembers places.

It tastes of distant rain,

Of sun-warmed earth and old roads,

Of evenings that faded too quickly

And mornings that promised too much.

It touches the skin gently,

Not to demand attention,

But to remind you that you are here,

Standing in time,

Still capable of feeling something light.

Leaves respond first.

They tremble, they dance,

They whisper secrets back to the air.

Trees bend just enough to listen,

Never resisting,

Never holding on.

The breeze carries voices too—

Laughter from another season,

A name once spoken softly,

A goodbye that never fully left.

It does not hurt.

It simply passes through,

Like memory learning how to forgive.

In the heat of the day,

The breeze feels like relief,

A small kindness from the sky,

Cooling thoughts that burned too long,

Teaching patience to restless hearts.

At dusk, it slows down,

Moving carefully through fading light,

As if afraid to disturb the quiet,

As if it knows

This hour belongs to reflection.

The breeze never explains itself.

It arrives, it touches, it moves on.

No promises.

No apologies.

Only presence.

And when it leaves,

Something subtle has changed—

The air feels lighter,

The chest feels open,

And for a brief moment,

So does the heart.

Because some things in life

Are not meant to stay.

They are meant to pass through,

To remind us gently

That even the softest movement

Can leave a lasting calm.