The Invisible

In the quiet there is nothing but breathing, a pounding heart, a wondering mind.  And then the wind.  What is in the wind but air being pushed along by some invisible force?  It makes the trees wave at the Heavens or knock against your window, as if in greeting almost.  Wind stirs the leaves from piles on the ground, each finding a new place to rest when all has settled.  But what is to be found in the wind?  A cool touch to the skin.  Natures music; singing that needs no help from a voice.  What can be found in the wind if we could neither feel cold or warmth, nor hear any sound?  Would trees still greet you?  Would nature still have music?  What reason, then, for wind?  It is not for our greeting, nor our pleasure, but it is a reminder of that which is behind it.  To see that which is invisible, to feel that which cannot be touched, to hear that which has no sound.