Where did the wind start? She had to start somewhere. I feel her run around my head, blowing my long hair into a great playful dance. Where is she going? Why is she running? It’s like the wind is alive. She plays tag with the fallen leaves in September. She cools children in the heat of July. She sings softly to us as we fall asleep in late May, and on dark and stormy nights she moans for mankind. We sail on the wind in flying contraptions. We send angry, secret, or sorrowful words into the wind to be forgotten. The wind is always blowing always becoming stronger before she becomes softer. She carries smells that remind us of the past. The smell of campfire. The smell of Mama’s favorite lotion. When did she start? Maybe at the start of time God blew into the trees and that breath never stopped moving. The wind is one of the most beautiful things in this fallen world-and we can’t even see her.