Mute became the minstrel who had trained a harp to carry his words on wings. Today he would declare his song of love. His heart was hushed by another voice that sings. His lover sat in silence waiting for the words he’d picked for her. His eyes embraced the sky, he sang no song but asked instead, “Do you hear what the West wind brings?” A sonnet of devotion to the East, a lover far away. Forgetting all the words he fought to find, the minstrel turned to say, “Between us there is only Air.” Words were flowing out in endless chains. The preacher searched for the word on high. The congregation sat unstirred like candles waiting to be kissed by fire. "My fellowship, my brothers and my sisters," the preacher called. His hands embraced the sky and from the North a howling shook the walls. "Do you hear what the North wind brings?" The candles in their pews stirred and swayed now by the sound of God. A rapture stole the preacher to his knees. His heart had found the words, "Between us there is only Air." The Air we breathe is all the same. The Earth inhales. Solemn was the silence that the children hung. They stood by their mother's resting bed. Today a life had gathered to its end. The world had stopped but the morning ran ahead. Eldest child reached to hold her hand. The others held back tears, waiting in the silence for the last words of their mother. "Do you hear what the South wind brings?" The wind had swung inside to fill the room. The mother smiled in peace. Her soul embraced the sky and in her last breath the children heard release. "Between us there is only Air." The Air we breathe is all the same. The Earth inhales. We live. We die. Waking in the morning with the world I wait for the East.