LOST

It can be cold, yet cuddly.  The wind whipping up the clouds to talk to the land, increasing in tempo.  The Geese begin to circle to find a way out.  It is wonderful.  It is freeing.  All around is in motion, freshness is blown in, cooling moisture forced against the face. The senses are alive, yet, yet there is a cruel pain as if I am lost amid all this, wanting to be lifted up, taken away, held and told that all is well, that there is a purpose and I am someway an important part of it.