Windy

Talking About the Wind - Katie Peterson

Windy was seen by most as the tyrant of the seasons. The harbinger of change, both unpleasant and wanted. What little did people know was that she was a slave to her own nature. Slipping through the trees, racing across fields, zipping through the tight spaces left over in crowded cities, Windy moved with the sole purpose of moving, of doing.
She didn't necessarily know why she did what she did, but it wasn't something she cared to bother to think about and she enjoyed it. The rush that only unweighted movement and its resulting speed provided had her constantly aching for more. There were times when it felt as though people called out to her, on hot days and on cold. It was a feeling in her gut that told her she had a purpose.
What she didn't realize was what a precipice of love and hate she stood upon without realizing. There were times when she casually sauntered through the civilizations of man and caressed their hair or blew in their faces, thrilling in the relieved smiles that blossomed on their once red, overheated faces as the cool breeze temporarily chilled their discomfort. Other times she worked herself into a frenzy, going ever faster until the point where her energies tore through everything in her path, ripping them from the root up and tossing them in the air as consequence in her determination to continue to move and see something new.
Windy never knew when her actions were praised or cursed. She didn't know when people prayed for her appearance or prayed she would just stay away. And she especially did not know about her most important talent of heralding in the seasons, bringing in her wake the change of fall or spring in a nearly routine like manner. All that she knew was that the world needed her and that she had to see all of it and each person and creature living in it. So she moved, and she danced and she explored. Her emotions carried her away and dictated the world around her that only she knew best, subjecting its subjects to her whims.