We can quantify the wind, it is a product of heat, pressure and the rotation of the Earth. We can model it, predict it, its speed, direction, its power.
Yet we cannot rationalise the feeling of it, on our skin, in our hair, the sensations we experience as it passes us by, uncaring, almost ignorant of our presence.
There is no formula we can refer to, no calculation we can make, no relationship between the its strength and how alive it makes us feel. The wind is seemingly from nothing, through nothing, into nothing, but strikes us as though a physical object, connects us to the world around us in a way we can never truly explain. Not that we would want to.
It is ephemeral yet we are more real for its passing, fortunate to have been blessed by its kiss.