the lost wind

I am gusting across wild country with my parents. They blow beside me, urging me on. I learn the art of puffing, capering, and whispering from them. I owe them the art of movement and grace, of refreshment and bluster.

We glide serenely together. I notice tall mountains ahead. My parents head down the green valley, but I can’t resist; I twirl amongst the peaks, pirouetting between the jagged outcrops and swooping into unknown chasms before gliding placidly beside massive cliff walls.  It’s great fun. But at the end of the peaks, I look about, where are my parents? There is no sign of them; they have gone. I am lost.

What to do now, alone? I am suddenly so sad. I cry and see the damp patches splat over the rocky terrain. But sad turns to angry. How could they desert me? I howl down the gorges and whistle through the trees. I purposefully send the apples flying to the ground and groan through the doors of houses, slamming them closed. I rattle the shutters, raise men’s hats and waft at women’s skirts.

I’ll ask the clouds. Have you seen my parents? But they’re not friendly. The faster I chase after them, the quicker they flurry away until I am completely worn out. I let them go. But then they stopped, too, as though teasing me. I ignore them. I hate clouds.

As I advance over dry ground, the dust rises. The dust behaves the same as the clouds. I speed up to avoid it, but the faster I go, the more the dust rises, choking me, swirling through me, and blanketing my vision. By chance, I blow over a lake. Gradually, the dust disperses, and I can breathe again.

But what’s this? A torment from the north is raging down on me. It’s vast, grey, and scowling. It bullies me, twirls me aside and tumbles me over and over. It’s filled with small icy white flakes that float through me and cover the ground. I shiver.

The tempest finally passes, leaving me breathless and weak. It’s all calm and still. I waft over green fields and twisting rivers. Birds soar up, reeling and circling with me; their bright songs console me, cheering my soul.

But now I gust over the sea. It is pleased to see me cruising above, signalling to me with dainty white fingers dancing across the surface of the water. I must blow stronger, make the waves rise to rock the ships, and send the sailboats speeding with foamy trails.

It’s fun for a while, but the sadness returns. I am alone, roaring over the endless expanse of ocean. But wait, what do I see to the south? A steady, serene wind, constant and enduring. I recognise it. It can only be… I turn to blow closer. My parents turn and recognise me; I scurry closer into their folds, feeling their warmth and tenderness. No longer lost, I blow together with them, once again prancing and gliding happily within my parent’s comforting embrace.