You do this every morning, or maybe afternoon. And when you sleep the sleep of sleeps, one might be held for you. You'll find me in the ocean, you'll find me in a lake-- An echo of a vessel's course, a moving ridge, a ...

I run from heat that without I can’t be, the flightiest in my family of three. My siblings are cold and colder still; from heads full of anger I may spill. When gentle I comfort, my touch airy soft, but sprinting I’ll burn you, and then I’ll be off.

I wear a crown of storms that never sleep, my bands of colors swirl crimson deep. So many worlds within my sway, yet no solid ground beneath the fray.

I am a belt that holds a vast, blue gown. You cannot buckle me up or down. Ships cross my line, but I am never wet.

Speak my name, and I appear. A stoic tone, a cry of fear. You'll never see me, but I am there. A ghostly hum in winter's air.