Grounding The Winds


She was the wind, ruffling the autumn oak leaves until they fell, leaving behind flashes of oranges, reds, and browns along clear blue sky. She lived a life between two extremes: bringing in a sweet relief on a hot summer day or leaving behind her total destruction of the storm. In the heat of the summer, people craved her. People needed her. She lived to be desired after, wanted. It fueled her, and so she grew. She grew strong and laughed in the air as she picked up in speed and strength. With her, grew the storm. The dark clouds blowing in promised devastation to the very people she once served. With a thirst for power in her heart, she screamed into the rain, blowing the branches she once danced upon. The trees, bent to their limits, cried out in mercy but were drowned out by the boom of thunder that came in with the howling of her winds. A flash of lightning mirrored in her eyes and lit a fire in her soul. Seemingly nothing could stop her. Nothing could ground her. She needed no sun, no blueness in the sky, and no peace so long as she was in control.

He was the oak, strong and grounded, resilient. He saw beyond her storms and beyond the flashes of lightning that danced violently in her blue eyes. He saw her need for belonging, her need for a true home. The grooves along the strong trunk of oak told stories of weathered storms and flash fires that were strong enough to shake him but not enough to destroy him, for his roots ran too deep. Shuddering in the wind were the leaves that threatened to fly away, but he was confident that his roots were strong, sturdy enough to hold him, even if part of him longed to be whisked away by the winds. The wind whispered promises of new lands with bluer skies, clearer air, and bolder emotion. She threatened his peace, the very core of his being, with the tantalizing promises of a rollercoaster life that he knew would be more turbulent, yet more exhilarating. Could a life of living in the wind beat a life grounded in moments of peace?

So, there they were in a standstill dance, with neither budging yet both longing for the other. Part of her craved peace, but she feared standing still would bring about an end to her. She knew she wouldn’t stay for long, but the grounded roots of the trees called to her. Longing to feel safe, she danced about the leaves of the oak quietly, calming her storms that once threatened the existence of the land they both called home. “Surrender,” the leaves seem to whisper as they dance in the breeze, both of them knowing that she won’t. The commanding sun will rise once again, and the dew will settle among the fresh grass and the grounded roots of the oak. Without even a howl of a goodbye, she will be gone, leaving behind a longing for excitement among the otherwise peaceful and strong stillness of the oaks.