There is nothing more tempting to a gust of wind than an open window. This wind, named Foehn in particular, loves when the window has been left open, the person off in another room. Foehn doesn’t understand why anyone would do that, as it’s very dangerous. But people seem to do it all the time without a care in the world. And she’s not about to complain. This world was so very strange. Strange but beautiful in a way as well.
This particular window was a simple square. It’s oak frame was like many Foehn had seen before. Its oak frame was also adorned with circular nets, with feathers. She had been reliably told that these were called dream catchers. Whether they worked or not, she didn’t know, (winds don’t tend to have dreams). But it was a nice size, and fully propped open. And so with a sharp twist, Foehn swept through the window.
The first thing that Foehn did every time she entered a window was cool down. Being a warm, downhill wind, she had to be careful. There were times when her own strength surprised her. But at least for this moment, her touch is naught but a breeze. A breeze that was subtle, that tickled and fluttered, rustling paper and pens alike.
And as she entered this room, she could see it was a small bedroom. A bedroom full of simple wood furniture, and handmade decorations. The sheets were a warm orange and red, the rug a pale yellow. But it was the bookshelf in the corner that caught her attention. Foehn ruffled past the bed, the pillows falling over into a triangle shape.
Dark oak wood was Foehn’s favorite, though she would never tell the other trees. It held a rich color that made her happier than any other one. A book lie open, it’s cover worn and creased. Favorite pages marked with bent corners and notes in the margin. She peeked in, following the words like a path. A path that kept twisting and turning, twisting and turning into a story so silly only a human would love it. But Foehn kept reading it, despite her own knowledge.
She makes sure to shuffle it’s pages around as well. After all, that’s what winds did. They caused mischief and mayhem in the lives of those smaller than them. She was already taking too long as it was. Luckily it had been centuries since she had traveled in a gust. Foehn had hated it, as they always rushed her, teasing her for her curiosity. As a breeze, she was running on her own time.
Moving along the bookshelf, she came across a small yew carving of a cat. Foehn’s breeze ran down it’s spine, gently, as if it was going to breath life any moment. It’s head was peeking over the edge, much like the other cats she had seen. They really were wondrous creatures, though she couldn’t understand where they got that courage from. They really did act like they could do anything sometimes. Foehn admired them for doing so, even though she believed they were rather fragile.
The thing in the top corner of the bookshelf, was something Foehn would probably remember for the rest of her life. Which was rather extraordinary considering that she could recall the beginning of the human species. But it wasn’t the object in particular, as much as the circumstance it was found in. Because, at the top corner of the bookshelf, was a glass vase, with one fully bloomed cosmos flower.
The shelf obviously was out of reach of the occupant of the room, seeing as it was filthy compared to the rest of the shelves. The shelf was also out of sight, were you to be standing on the floor. So how this one flower had managed to survive and bloom was a mystery to Foehn. There was no way to reach it, and there was no sign of anyone touching the flower in any recent weeks. Yet in the darkness, it had opened its pink petals to the sky and thrived.
She stayed up there for a while, and gently brushed the dust off the vase, and surrounding shelf.
And her world narrowed down to this small, delicate flower, whose petals reached for the light that would not come. And yet still it grew. Foehn eventually tore her gaze away, floating gently back to the ground, leaving not a petal out of place. She turned back once more, just to look around at the life that surrounded her.
Foehn moved back towards the square window, accidently knocking a dream catcher off it’s hook. Freezing, she remembered that she was supposed to move and hide things. But even as she turned around, the door to the room opened, and in came a girl of about fourteen. Her face was streaked with tears, and her hands shook.
The girl looked on in confusion as her curtains and dream catchers suddenly flew to the side, as if a wind had blown outward, but of course that was impossible. And for a second the tears stopped flowing as she contemplated this mystery, and also whether to shut her window. Then the next second, a small cat came in, followed by a rather large dog. The tabby cat stretched out on her pillow, eyes focused on the girl, paws batting at her red hair. The dog, an Irish Setter ran next to her bed, putting its paws up.
As it turned the corner, the dog’s tail hit the side of the bookshelf. The dark oak bookshelf had never fallen before, and it didn’t now. But it did shake, and as it did, one thing fell off of it, hitting the ground. The pale yellow rug soon grew damp, and glass shards caused the sunlight to sparkle. The girl took a look at the broken vase, but soon turned her bright green eyes away, choosing to take comfort from her pets instead.
Now it was the dog who stared at the girl, licking away the tear tracks from her face. But the cat instead looked somewhere else. But the cat instead gazed out the window. The simple square framed window, with the dream catchers ruffled but still hanging, and the curtains blown aside.
And outside that very window, the wind could only look mournfully on, as the flower, its petals bruised and crushed, was forgotten.