Once, a long time ago (or maybe tomorrow, who knows),
there was a small town where the wind decided it was tired.
Not angry.
Not sad.
Just tired.
So one morning, it simply…
stopped.
Leaves froze mid-rustle.
Flags hung limp like they were waiting for instructions.
And the people walking through town looked around like:
“Uh… is the wind okay?”
Then a little kid — maybe 6, maybe 60 —
walked right up to the still air and whispered,
“Hey… you don’t have to work so hard today.”
And the wind — surprised, relieved, grateful —
exhaled just the tiniest breath.
Just enough to brush the kid’s hair.
Not a gust.
Not a storm.
Just a soft, “thank you.”
And for the rest of that day,
the wind didn’t rush.
It didn’t push.
It didn’t hustle.
It just moved in small, gentle sighs —
like it finally remembered it was allowed to rest
and still be the wind.
Jessica Carey
