The green reeds quietly sway eastwards as the sun
fades, casting its shadow over the simmering
horizon. A large boar gently emerges
from the shaded mudded creek, closes its eyes, and lets the gentle breeze harden
the mud on its face. When the boar
opens its eyes, the flitter of its eyelid causes the mud to break. The mud falls
like bits of sand and gently dances in the air like pollen. The boar is free.
A black-footed ferret gazes up into the oak tree. The bark of the tree is cold and wetted with the
first year’s snowfall. No matter how
much she tries, she cannot climb. Her
eyes are fixated on a particular branch of the oak tree; on that branch rests a
robin nest. The mother robin is away, the black-footed ferret is a mother too. She can hear her kits high pitched whimpers
crescendo in the wind. She cannot leave
this tree. The crescendos heighten, and
heighten, and heighten. The black-footed
ferret’s gaze focuses on the rattling branch, and then to swiftly to the robin nest
which hangs by a thread. The nest
collapses, the eggs fall on the bedded snow with hardly a crack. The black-footed ferret is free.
The night sky is clouded; the moon emerges from time to time
through the clouds. It emerges long enough for the little girl to count its
craters, its crevices, and dark spots before it once again vanishes. The girl sits on a black swing in a small park
that only she knows of. Her fingers
grasp the swing‘s alloy chains, but she lacks the energy to swing. Her eyes are
red and watery, her head furrowed, her lips downcast like the moon, and her
nose sniffles away. She lets go of her
grasp on the alloy chains, and buries her face into her delicate palms. She’s all
alone. Suddenly, a tender gust engulfs
her. Goosebumps emerge under the thickness
of her jacket. The gust holds her tight.
Although the green grass, wooden fences, window panes, and trees too bend, the wind
is focused on her. It gently grasps her tightly. She inhales the friendly gust through her
nostrils, and lets it rest in her body. The gust dries her water eyes, and her
hair blows without inhibition. The young
girl is free.
The wind blows and blows. Through summer and fall, through winter
and spring, through times of plenty and times of famine, through times of joy
and times of hardness the wind blows. In
your darkest moments and your deepest triumphs, in your light hardships and
soft agonies, in your heavy burdens and joyous burdens, the wind blows. Just like night turns to day and just like the
freshness christens the morning air after a night’s rain, the wind blows. It blows without volition and causes all
things to pass. So, in the servitude of
acrimony, the melancholies of melancholy, the nightmares which exist to eyes
wide open unburdened with sleep. Remember
like the mudded boar emerging from the creek. Remember lik the black footed
ferret gazing up the oak tree. Remember
like the little girl grasping the swing’s alloy chain on that moon covered
night. Remember, just like them, that
the Wind will set you free.
