What the Wind Told Me
When you stand alone at the edge of a field and road, do you hear the wild wind calling you home?
When I was young, I used to take dangerous walks into the night, into the streets. I did it for no other reason than to be alive, alone, and at the cross hairs of something cold and wild.
There is a change that takes place when the wind blows over you. A change that isn’t necessarily yours or mine or anyone’s but the winds. I learned while out in the night that there are things that exist outside of us and without us. They are great not because of anything we did as humans or individuals but because there are secret gears, engines—ghost machines that will it.
“Call me a pinecone,” said the wind as it kissed and tickled every flora and fauna from this coast to the next. “Put a bridge in my way and I’ll shake it. A wall? I’ll bring it buckling to the ground wallowing, ‘Hallelujah.’”
The wind doesn’t stop just goes to some other place or time and keeps blowing. It has no home No place to call its own “Who needs it?” It billows at the mountains who only whistle in response.
Aigner Loren Wilson is a 5X Top Writer in Fiction, Writing, Art, Books, and Poetry. Her work has appeared in P.S. I Love You, Arsenika, Illumination, and more. She is releasing a poetry collection, to be haunted, in the summer of 2021.