I Believe in The Wind
It’s the wind. Yes, I believe in the wind.
As a child I sensed the wind played with me, swirling the sand in the sandbox, rippling the surface of the pond near our house. In spring it played with me and my kite and it allowed the soaring birds to soar. In summer it played at my feet on the beach and near Halloween it rustled the dried corn free of its secrets.
The wind has driven rain against my bedroom window and the sound on the glass has carried me into sleep. When the wind howled, it moved me to imagine adventures where wolves stealthily made their way toward food across the barren landscapes of my dreams.
I was once disparaged about my belief in the wind. In an essay I wrote that music does not drift on the breeze, rather the breeze cups her hands, scoops the music and offers it freely to the world. When the instructor was adamant that one could not personify objects and elements, except, perhaps, in poetry, I stopped writing.
It took 25 years to pick up my pen. I now know that she was neither right nor wrong, she merely could not see as I saw, hear what I heard, nor feel as I felt.
And so I’ve returned to my youthful beliefs: the blessing of a cool summer night’s breeze, the tossing about of leaves as they fall in October, the wind dancing them in circles around my feet down the lane to the barn.
And each time I depart the confines of a hospital and am met at the door by the freshness and renewal of a light evening breeze, I know that it dissipates my fears and doubt and lifts my spirit and my prayers to heights never before imagined.
Oh, yes, I believe in the wind. And I believe the wind believes in me.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.