The Path of the Wind

Once there was a very small boy with a very big question. He wanted to understand the wind, to know her secrets and hear her tales and see the places she wanders. He wanted to find her home, so that he might ask her a most important question. He was a very little boy, but he did not know it. He did not know that his question was bigger than he.

The little boy did not know how to find the wind. But he knew that she was very busy, and that the only chance he had to speak with her was to find the place the wind called home, her origin. He thought once, for a moment, that perhaps another human might know where she came from. But he soon found that they did not.

The boy did not give up. He was a persistent little boy, full of wonder and curiosity, and he was not daunted by the quest he had given himself. He knew he had to find the wind, and he knew that he could not be happy until he asked his question. So one day, without a single goodbye, he set off on his journey. He traveled far from his home, crisscrossing the rivers and plains and jungles of his land. He stopped in a field once, and spoke to a rose. But the rose could only tell him that the wind passed by often. He climbed a mountain once, and spoke to the sun. But the sun could only tell him that the wind moved through quickly. The boy stayed til nightfall, and spoke to the moon. To his joy, the moon held the answer.

“The sun,” she said, in a soft, lilting voice, “is too busy to see the paths of the wind. He has a difficult job, lighting the world and warming every person and plant in it, so he cannot stop to watch where the wind wanders. But I have only one task, a small one, and so I can watch where the wind goes. She has a long and varied path, and it is impossible to give directions to the place she lays her head. I can only tell you to follow her, and go where she goes.”

She saw that the little boy was listening, so she continued. “The wind cannot be seen unless she is carrying something, so you must give her something to take with her so that you may see where she goes. Take sand of many colors and toss it into the air when you feel her approaching, and follow the sand to find where she lives.”

The little boy nodded, a silent promise. But, before he left, he asked one more question. “Moon,” he asked politely, “what is your task?”

The moon gave him her gentle silver smile. “My task is two-fold, but simple. I must only watch over the children as they sleep, and listen to the secrets they tell when they cannot. I am the children’s protector, and I am always here with a smile for those who need to speak with me.”

“Is that why you helped me?” the little boy asked. But it was now dawn, and the moon only laughed softly as the pink fingers of the sun sent her on her way. The echoes of her laugh would stay in his heart for a long time after, giving him courage when it was badly needed.

The little boy knew, now, how to complete his quest. He had come far, but he knew he still had long miles to go. But his quest made him tireless, so he set off once again, this time heading to the beaches of the world.

He found red sand by a volcano, white sand by the ocean, coarse blue sand of crushed shells near a deep northern bay. After many days, he finally had sand of every color, and he set off with a light heart toward a plain the wind loved. It was a still day, and it took some time before she came wandering his way.

First he felt the grass stirring beneath his feet. Then he felt his hair raising over his ears. Then, finally, he felt on his skin the rush of the wind’s arrival, and he tossed the many-colored sands into the air.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The wind held the sand and tossed it in wonderful rippling, curling, twisting movements the likes of which he had not seen. Trumpet-shaped sandflowers of deepest purple, wild flying birds of brightest red, whirling lines of orange and blue. And the little boy knew that he was seeing the path of the wind.

He remembered, suddenly, what he was searching for, and he followed the colorful path of the wind. He climbed a grassy hill, danced thrice around an old, dead tree, and finally found himself surrounded by the wind on a high plateau. He saw her dancing all around and high above him, and he knew that he had found the home of the wind.

Who are you? the wind whispered. The little boy shivered.

Who are you?

“I have a question,” the boy whispered back. He heard his small voice carried far above him by the dancing wind.

Ask

Ask

Ask, the wind echoed, in her faint voice.

And the little boy did. The wind laughed, her answer almost lost in her joy at the question.

Yes, she answered. Yes.