Of the great machinations of nature, I adore one second to none; wind. Whether it be a hurricane or the smallest gust, it is uplifting; literally and figuratively. Rallied by leading gales, water will be smashed upon beaches, pleasing my lovely waiting eyes. Oh, these oceans I do so love to be near, the wind so sharp as to leave lines in the sky. Rage onwards storm, rage and froth, sending marine life tumbling into the air. To stand on these huge rocks on this deserted stretch of sand without braced eyes with the air wrapping and whipping itself around me is truly gratifying.
Closing my eyes I can see the squall delicately tug leaves from trees that it only then, equally gently, slowly snaps the great huge towering trunks in half as I stand atop the highest branch. From such a vantage, I transport myself underneath this crumbling building of nature and find myself in awe. This hulking thing has been tumbled so easily, effortlessly, calmly.
I fly away from the impact zone and become witness to the storm picking up animals and flinging them, screaming, into the air as if they were nothing. Uprooted and thrown upwards to join the scurry of legs in mid-air are a variety of plants. While these will be slowly torn to pieces above the dirt they so lovingly once occupied, the animals shall be hurled earthward. I observe the terror and stiffness born in them born from the wind, rather than the pure appreciation I hold for it. There is no mercy here for them, prevalent in the storm. The true nature of nature persists here.
I am back to myself, occupying my beloved place upon the beach. The wind is more than just a watched entertainment to me. It is my life blood, it is my mode of travel, as well as my traveling partner. I will click my talons on the wet rock on which I stand, spread my wings wide and let the storm ruffle my feathers to lift and carry me away, to glide without effort across this world with that familiar roar in my ears. You did not believe me to be human, did you?