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The Wind
by
L S A
8/14/2003
The wind blows thru the trees, and the leaves quake, not from fear of the strength of the wind as it passes through, but almost as if they giggle as the fingers of the wind tickle the tender undersides of the leaves.
The wind continues to bounce among the trees, time after time tugging at the branches and leaves, then darting away quickly. The limbs of the trees quiver and sway back and forth as if trying to reach out and grab the mirthful breezes to stop the teasing or perhaps to tease back, causing the little wind to rechart its course. All the trees seems to come to life at the skillful jousting of the wind, merrily weaving in the morning sun.
The wind, itself invigorated by the happy encounter of the leaves on the trees, hurries onto the plain to find the native prairie grasses standing tall with only a hint of movement. The full heads on the grasses seem to taunt the wind, saying, “We won’t play. We’re here to bind the earth against your breath, oh wind, so the soil doesn’t blow away when swatted by your invisible fingers. Our task is serious and we will not play.”
The wind hears the challenge and stills itself a bit, then circles a few times while considering the haughty boast, then swoops toward the grasses, ready to tease and tug until the grasses, like the leaves of the trees, give way to laughter.
The grasses, rather than relent to the individual fingers of the wind, seem held by invisible threads as they sway in graceful unison to the pushes and yanks of the wind. Even when the wind circles back again and once more tries to separate the regal stalks and force the whoosh of nature’s laughter, it’s without fruition -- the grasses dip and sway always in gentle unison.
The wind, bored by the communal dance of the grasses, moves on to seek another playmate, Now in the placid waters of the lakes which form a chain in the valley. the wind begins to nip at the glassy surface, tweaking and ruffling, as if to say, “Come! Play!”
The waters of the lake, stirred by the persistence of the wind, ruffle as if grumbling from beneath, saying, “Go away, impertinent wind, leave us in peace.” Occasionally the waters lap higher as if to encourage the wind into a stronger, deeper poke into the depths of the water. And so this continues, back and forth in increasing jabs until the waters begin to froth in anger toward the invisible intruder. Finally the wind tires of the game and looks for another quest.
Across the countryside the wind swirls, up hills and thru valleys, across the backs of woodland animals. stirring their fur and lifting their noses to learn what is nearby. The wind scatters the fluff from the heads of dandelions and loosens the pine cones from the tree and watches them bounce on the ground. The petals of the wild roses, fading on the vine, are tossed in all directions.
Winging birds adjust their flight as the wind lifts and drops them, and they continue on their journeys in search of food, water and shelter for rest. The wind tries, as it did with the trees, the grasses and the ponds, to direct the path of the birds. But the birds, intent on their mission, simply adapt their wings to accommodate the interference of the wind, and continue on their journeys. Occasionally one bird loses the shelf of wind on which it has been riding, drops suddenly for several feet, but always they recover and with a great flapping of their feathers, regain altitude and resumes its course.
The wind tries, as it has throughout the morning, to change the course set by the various birds in the sky, and upon realizing that he has met another tireless resistance to the gusts he is producing, ponders on what is next .
Finished with the meadow, the wind climbs the hill and swoops quickly down the far side and onto the desert. Here he finds loose sand to toss and flip. The wind twists through the cacti and moves close to the ground, bending the growth of the mounds of grass almost to the ground. Then it slips beneath the bellies of the desert creatures, the horned toads and prairie dogs, cooling them as the crawl across the hot sand.
The small creatures of the desert floor seem unperturbed at the wind. Even when the wind causes the sand to pelt against their bodies, they simply close their eyes against it, pause to confirm direction of their paths, and resume their activities. Rather than finding this an irritant or a cause to play, the animals seem to welcome the cooling effects of the breeze.
Finally, as if exhausted by the efforts and bored at the rest of the world, the wind slows, quiet and almost still. Night is near, and as the moon rises on the horizon, she says to the wind,
“What a good job you have done today.
You dusted the leaves on the trees, helping them breathe.
You shook the pollen in the prairie grasses so there will be more to grow, and while you didn’t notice, the corn in the nearby field was pollinated, too, and will feed many people.
You stirred the waters of the lake, turning oxygen deep into the lake for the fish.
You cooled the creatures of the forest and the desert, and spread seeds of multitudes of plants.
You lifted the bird in flight and helped him to reach his destiny more easily.
You did your part to synchronize nature.
Rest now, wind.
Tomorrow you will do so again.”
And so the little wind settles down in the bosom of Mother Earth to sleep for the night, and to prepare for the day ahead.
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So goes life -- a random series of
unrelated, innerconnected events.
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