Wind

Listen child, the wind is blowing From the past when you weren’t born. Smell it, for it carries the scent your mother wore on her wedding day. Listen child, the song the wind is singing and ask your father if that was what they danced to when they united to create you.

This spirit that you do not see is blowing from the years that are gone, and upon its wings it carries your grandfather’s name and the names of all those who stood before him.

This power that’s rattling your tin roof and unearthing trees and houses at nearby Umpling, is a traveller journeyed its way from when nothing existed, to this day. This traveller has stories to tell you, and it is blowing to remind you that your story is being noted –to tell your children and your grandchildren and their children too, of the scent you wore today, tomorrow and the days to come.

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So dance, let the blowing wind be your song. Let your rattling tin roof be the melody your children ask you about, someday.

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