Love, February ~ Day 13

A short love story ~

The wind laughs as it runs through the trees, mischievously disturbing the leaves.  Skimming across the lake, it ruffles the birds and causes the fish to hide.  Skating backwards to view its handiwork, it slaps into an unsuspecting person.  Laughing, the wind turns and whistles around the woman, delighted to see her hat and some papers join it in flight.

The woman shouts, but cannot be heard over the disrespectful wind.  She too turns and begins to run with the wind.  It had not expected this, and at first speeds up, afraid, like a child, of being caught.  But peeking behind, it notices her frustration is mixed with laughter as she runs, one hand holding up her skirt to free her feet, the other stretched out for the papers turned into tiny magic carpets flying on the breeze.

The wind slows down to accommodate the woman, grinning gleefully as it switches direction.  She too smiles as she pauses for breath, then picks up her skirt to join the wind with a skip and twirl.  The wind swirled around her, mussing her hair, laughing in her ears.  It felt it had been so long since it had had a playmate.

Coming to a large oak, it ran up the trunk, whistling for its friend to follow.  It quieted to assist her climb, and clung to the tree top, eagerly waiting.

“Oh Wind!”  The woman cried, gasping for breath.  “I cannot climb near so fast or high as you.  Even if I could manage to join you at the top, I cannot fly into the clouds with you as you would want.”

The wind was silent, the forest and lake stilled.  The woman shook her head, but a glimmer of a smile can be seen in the corner of her mouth.

She tied up her skirt above her knees, and began to climb the tree.  The wind, now singing happily in anticipation, catches up the words petulant child from her lips.

She was only a few feet from the ground, a noise can be heard in the still air.  It was a name, called over and over again.  It causes the woman to pause in her climb.

A man appears between the trees.  The wind angrily gusts for him to leave, he looks the type to spoil fun.  But the man merely stretches out his arms, catching the wind, and laughs louder than the woman had.

He reaches his hand out to her, still clinging to the tree.  She smiles as she takes it.  It is a different smile, the wind notices, than the one she had directed at it.  At this thought, the wind drops her things, and they land scattered around her, though the wind takes great pleasure to guiding her hat directly to her head, where it leads with an ungraceful thump on her destroyed hair.

The man gathers her things, while the woman stares long up the tree.  The wind jumps silently into the blue sky where she cannot hope to find it.

The man hands her the papers, and turns to walk away.  Smiling, the woman waves at the sky, before catching up her skirt once more to skip along side her taller, human friend.

Unknown to her, the wind waves back.


Love, February


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