like a bird caught in a curtain, this temporary entanglement may lead to an open sky
She was born to a mother and a father, but she was taken by the wind not long after that. Perhaps she always belonged to the wind. She returns to this family, when she can, but she cannot deny that her heart is elsewhere—that when she is as solid as she can be, rooted to their side, that she feels sick. That her body begins to grow weak, her mind foggy, her heart sluggish. So perhaps that is why she takes to the skies more and more. Why as she grows older in months, she spends more and more time by the sun.
Today is no different.
The summer is warm and the breeze is light, and she is one with it. She rides along the currents of air, giggling as the wind picks her up and moves her as though she is a leaf. These currents are home, in a way, and as she bends to its desire, laughing as she flips alongside it. She cannot tell if the wind moves through her or around her or if it even matters. If there is any point in trying to find a beginning and end.
(She doesn’t think so. Not truly.)
Laughing, she exerts her own will on the wind, hurrying it along. It responds in kind, blowing faster and faster and she cannot contain her squeals of delight. She doesn’t even realize when she blows into the meadow, feeling windswept and full of light. She glances down at those who gather here, some in pockets and some all by themselves, and she feels the mischief of the young. Remaining invisible, she twists down through the pocket of cool air before coming up alongside another, blowing the wind through the stranger’s mane. Once it is properly mussed, she laughs—unable to contain herself—and floats away.
