Is an exercise in futility.
Looking for the future
In particles of dust
That have no point of departure
And no real destination.
To watch the wind
Is to ignore your own convictions
Postpone your own leap of faith
And nullify your own intuition
In hopes that something out there
Will tell you when it’s your turn.
We have never really been good at prediction
And maybe we were never meant to be.
He who observes the wind will not sow, and he who regards the clouds will not reap.