Windchimes

My life is like the wind chimes on your southern farmhouse porch,
still silence on the cloudless days the sun would dare to scorch.
But when the breeze begins to blown my hair wild in my face,
The notes it strikes are discordant, awkward and out of place.
The tension builds, confusing notes continue to increase
But every echo down somehow resolves in perfect peace.
So pull your rocker here by mine as night approaches fast,
Our lives may not as yet make sense; this moment may not last.
Later on, we'll tell them (only if they ask, of course)
How life was like the wind chimes on our southern farmhouse porch.