As a child I always wanted to chase the wind. She was so free, so beautiful, the queen of her own will.
So for years, I admired her.
Then one day, I ran after her.
The more I ran, the more she teased me.
She flew past me, but I could never posses her.
My long flocks, my eyelashes, my tan skin teased by her featherlike moves
I wanted more.
I ran faster and she was always almost there but never enough, never mine.
One day I collapsed, exhausted
I was in the think mud of the desert dunes.
Far far away from home
Wind still played her little games.
The sand blew into my eyes.
That day I was tired.
I was hungry, and had to put myself first.
I forgot the wind.
That day I looked back and saw how far I had come.
That day I saw all the things that I had missed.
Chasing after the wind.
And I did find water.
A pond.
I was lucky.
I saw my shimmering reflection.
I saw the wind playing with it.
The wind, she didn't want me to kill her.
She didn't want me to take away her beauty.
To hold her, to cease her
She didn't want to go away either.
I looked at the pond
Glimmering sunlight and the breeze
A different breeze
A breeze that flowed within me

The wind was a metaphor for all that I had to access within myself,
The lost flow that I had to find within me.
And I found it the moment I stopped chasing after the wind.