Where do We go When the Windmill Stops Turning
The air is still, the warmness sticky, birds are silent in the trees, a sudden feeling of peace and quite; someone’s soul has left the earth, and the Creator is waiting.
People cry, others cook, some fall apart, others hang on. We pray, we talk, we cry more. People eat and remember the life, the person will be missed.
The windmill stops; the in-take of fresh air the exhale of exhaustion, what do we do, where do we go. Does he see us, does he know, is he here, is this what he wants.
Will God stop the sorrow, will the grief wear off, do we wear out first, my heart hurts, my tears dry up, I go home, it is over.
A new day starts. When do I smile, when do I laugh, where do I go with my life. The sorrow is past, how fast will it spin, its contentment is back.
The sun shines, the wind blows, life moves on, the windmill spins, I know where I am.
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