The wind was a bit drunk last night, and it wouldn’t stop chattering. I’ve never actually listened to it speak before.

I’m usually the one tossing my prayers into the great howl as if it were an ocean— as if they were messages in a bottle.

But the Wyoming gale last evening was so angry that I had no choice but to listen to her rage as she bent the trees in my backyard with her voice.

I sat under the racing sky and heard the wind’s gusting sermon:

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Human, you weren’t born to master this world.

Ownership was never the point of coming here.

The rivers never asked for you to lease them.

The mountains never needed your names.

You value binding the world

over simply belonging to it.

Creation didn’t shape you for conquest—

but for communion.

You chose to dominate

when you were invited to dwell.

You are made of the same breath

I use to shape the clouds,

the same atoms that feed the roots,

the same quiet that stills the birds.

But you’ve misunderstood the assignment.

You aren’t the boss of the tree of life.

You are a branch.

You’ve built your life like a fortress—

high walls of certainty,

foundations poured in fear.

You seek a higher title than human.

You have spent your days extracting, measuring, burning, consuming—

and call it progress.

You say it’s destiny.

Do you remember how you lived

before your addiction to reckless innovation?

Before you forgot the quiet joy

of slow-motion introspection?

Somehow, you’ve mistaken momentum for meaning.

But you need to know:

Creation is not moved by your speed.

It’s not impressed by your skyline.

It’s not shaken by your noise.

What I ask—

what I have always asked—

is that you return.

Return to the holy intimacy of being alive.

To the humility of being temporary.

To the sacredness of not knowing.

My love—

sit in the dirt with me tonight.

Let my embrace undo you back into innocence.

Let the stars remind you

that your smallness is not your shame—

it’s your entry point.

That is where real belonging begins.

Listen to me:

there is time,

there is time,

there is time,

there is time,

for you still,

to return to the reason

you were planted

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