A lone man sat atop the mountain which had peaks piercing the clouds. He saw not the sky. He heard not a chirp from the robin’s nest. He smelled no sweet grass. He felt not even the coldest breeze. He was alone, and he was happy.
The wind could not understand him. The wind felt the sunlight’s warmth, smelled fresh buns from a grandmother’s oven, heard the new mewls of a cat’s litter and saw the beauty of autumn’s bright leaves. Yet, the wind was not happy. “I can sense all beauty in the world and I know of all good things. So how is it I am not happy, while you, alone and ignorant, are?”
The man could not answer as he did not know the wind spoke, and his voice was gone from time. Instead, his silence allowed the wind to ponder how this could possibly be. The difference was that it could know all while the man knew nothing.
The wind loved the world, but as much was utopia and pure, much more was twisted and wrong. It could hear the pleading scre