The wind sounds like a small whisper. It speaks to me like a mysterious spirit that roams the earth. The wind is an elderly man. His voice makes his presence known, but he doesn’t try to demand attention from everyone. He gives guidance with his gruff, but soft voice. People may choose to heed his words or ignore them. The wise man tries to speak to as many people as he can, but like an orphaned dog in the streets, he receives momentary attention by some passerby who stops for only mere seconds.
As quickly as the old man arrived, he left. A moment of silence settles: an eerie calm before a storm.
The wind begins to howl and echo through the woods. The wind yells at me to wake up as if I’m in bed and my mother is tearing my blanket off. “There’s no time to waste,” she says. But I don’t want to wake up; I’d rather stay asleep in my warm, comfortable bed. I smother myself in blankets as the wind roars around me like ocean tides surrounding a ship in distress. Again and again, waves crash down on the helpless boat. Finally, the storm clears. The wind returns, whistling softly like a flute, coaxing me to wake up. From underneath my covers, I open my eyes and finally sit up. The wind resumes its usual gliding. I don’t want to be left behind.
~Jose Hernandez
