The Swirls that Lead to the Dust of the Road

I'm not exactly sure what this ornamental grass is called, but I like its stiff stalks and the fluff and swirls of its seed pods.  I was thinking about how strong the wind would have to be if these seeds were going to blow anywhere, and then started thinking about tumbleweed and how it looks when it's rolling around in the desert sand, and that reminded me of dust.

And then...I thought of a poem by W.S. Merwin.  It's called To the Dust of the Road.

And in the morning you are up again

with the way leading through you for a while

longer if the wind is motionless when

the cars reach where the asphalt ends a mile

or so below the main road and the wave

you rise into is different every time

and you are one with it until you have

made your way up to the top of your climb

and brightened in that moment of that day

and then you turn as when you rose before

in fire or wind from the ends of the earth

to pause here and you seem to drift away

on into nothing to lie down once more

until another breath brings you to birth