Easterly

On a day of heat, the sun ablaze,

I met her amidst the shimmering haze.
A soothing breeze, cool and free,
She whispered softly, 'Easterly'.

Her touch was calm, her presence light,
A balm to the weary, a pure delight.
In gusts she played, across my face,

A fleeting joy, a sweet embrace.

She nudged the clouds to the western skies,
Spilling colors where the horizon lies—
A palette wild: red, orange, pink,
Purple dreams at the day’s last brink.

Her fragrance danced, so soft, so rare,
A playful tease that lingered there.
Each evening found me seeking her,
In a quiet corner, my thoughts a blur.

I loved the way she’d come and go,
A restless spirit, a constant flow.
To bind her down, I’d never dare,
For freedom was her essence rare.

She’d never stay, yet I’d not grieve,
For beauty lies in what must leave.
The Easterly, with her fleeting art,
Had carved her name upon my heart.