It was just that kind of a night, a little majestic. The stars were out and winds were blustering.
Within the bluster, there was something softer, a gentler breeze, like a lover’s last caress.
The winds blew cold, but not the kind of cold that would burn you. A sweeter kind of cold. They would chill you with a strong gust, but not too harshly. More like a forceful tickle.
And on a night like this you can feel the wind through your hair, and your warm blood as it rushes through, little by little nourishing your being. Forming the very heat of you.
And with you alongside, holding my arm. Spellbound by the magic that runs through the air, and there are so many things I feel I have to say. Things I need to say.
Yet, each time I talk. The strong winds drown my words and soon I realize it is futile, it’s not the will of the wind to let my words form. Tonight they have no patience for such things.
All that doesn’t matter, ’cause we don’t need words. Word are manmade, what you we here is primordial. The language of nature, of silence, of the surge of the wind, of the rustle of the leaves. It’s how the winds talk. Wordlessly, in perfect synchrony with the world around them.
There and then, I’m haunted by the limitations of my being. For I cannot tell what the winds say. I can make out the tune, little patterns, but not the meaning. Never the meaning.
A tinge of mournfulness threatens to overwhelm me so completely. It is then that you hold me a bit tighter, tugging at my arm, fending off the harsher spirts in the winds.
So, I just know the winds talk of love.
For these are the same winds that touch the mountains and the sea. That touch the skin of the pure and evil, and their hearts from within. They have touched every man that has lived or will live. And the winds are wise, as they are cruel. And they love as they hate. They bring life and they bring destruction.
It is then you realize that the winds are a little human. And humans above all, need to love.