Wind movement

Sitting in the grass,
Dew is dampening my jeans,
Gently seeping through the fibers.
The wind moves the grass across my feet,
My arms, my hands.
Soft, rustly caresses.
I sway with the grass.

Sitting in the tree,
My book forgotten aside,
Lying open in the branches.
The wind bends the tree into a grace,
It sighs to ground,
Great, humbling magnitude.
I bow with the tree.