a brief conversation with the wind

He writes me and tells me to talk to the wind, see what it has to say, so I go outside and hold out my ear and tongue. The wind rushes and roars into deafening howls around the corners, and yet each time I speak, it settles into a quiet hum and brushes my cheek with blessings. When I speak the words, “I don’t know what I’m doing”, the wind slaps me with a tiny twig that gets snared in my hair. I pick it out and slip it behind the ear. It’s Devil’s Shoestring, protection & luck.