A Great Gust of Stillness

Nestled in the deep purple mountains of southern Peru, two figures could be seen; their hair and clothing rustling and twisting this way and that. “Viento,” whispered the small child who was perched in his mother’s caring arms. “Sí, niño,” she whispered back, “wind…” The boy reached out to feel the force of the air. He was thrilled by the strength that pushed his delicate hand back to the safety of his mother’s embrace.
Far out on the Atlantic, a small sailing vessel swayed to the rhythm provided by the waves. “How far until we hit the next plotted direction change?” someone smartly inquired.
“Not far now, chap… We’ll be there soon enough.”
“If the wind keeps up, that is,” someone else chimed in. The crew exchanged wary looks.
On a coffee farm in Congo, a man, renowned in the community for his character and wisdom, kneeled to inspect the parched, cracked ground. There had not been rain in weeks, and all were worried for the safety of their crops. “Vent,” he whispered to himself in French as he glanced at the sky. “All we can do is pray for wind to carry the rains our way,”
A small Island in the Philippines bustled with activity. Everyone seemed to be outdoors nailing boards over their windows, chatting with their neighbors, and bringing potted plants inside. They spoke of the hurricane that was coming their way. Everyone hoped that the hit would not be too strong.
As all of this occurred, the wind simply remained unrelenting in its cycle, not partial to anyone, simply continuing its duties. A day passed, and, of course, the wind changed its course slightly.
The mother and child awoke to a new morning. The child gave out a cry, for during the night, he had become sick. His mother lifted him into her arms, and tried to sooth his discomfort by rocking him from side to side. “Viento,” cried the boy after a while, remembering his new-found source of happiness from the day before. The two went outside, for the mother hoped as much as the child that the wind would bring a smile to her son’s face once again… but all was still.
The crew of the sailing ship stood in a circle on the deck, facing each other, speaking in low tones. The wind had been steadily decreasing its strength until it stopped altogether. This was not what the crew had been hoping for.
Similarly, villagers in Congo were conferencing about rationing food and water. Although a small breeze blew, it only seemed to swirl the dust into the air, and only two pure white clouds stood stagnant in the sky. Rain was a necessity, but it seemed like it wouldn’t come for a long time.
Finally, the Philippine islanders took refuge in their homes. The streets did not bustle any more. Instead, there was a calm that only comes before a storm.
“¡Viento!” cried the child.
“Wind, won’t you return?” demanded one of sailors.
“Please,” pleaded someone at the meeting, “Let the wind bring the rain.”
“Great wind!” Prayed the people locked in their houses, “Do not hurt us with your violent gusts.”
In other corners of the world as well, people pleaded with the wind to either come or go. Everyone said that they had the greatest need. Each cry came from the heart.
It was hard for the wind to cope with this. In fact, it seemed like everywhere it blew, it was turned away, and every place that it left behind called for it to return. When the wind blew through the trees, it sounded sad, and when it blew for long miles along the ground, it was fast and wild, as if it was running from itself and the fact that it could not please the world.
Suddenly, the wind simply stopped. It was as if exerting itself was no longer worthwhile, and as if the pain that it caused outweighed the good because of the few who it could not satisfy. At first, some of those who had been discontented with the wind were elated, but soon, the air around the earth became heavy and thick with stillness. Before long, not only the villagers in Congo were praying for rain, and not only the Philippine islanders pleaded for it to stop. Pockets of rain dumped every drop of water they held on the same bit of land, while neighboring communities remained as dry as the moon. The hurricane that was no longer fueled by twisting skies drenched the island that it hovered above. Eventually, a mass chaos ensued as people panicked in the motionless air.
It is true that the wind returned, but it was only after a period of immense hardship on the part of those who had to live without it. A small child cried, a ship sat stubbornly out at sea as its crew became homesick and hungry, an island struggled with the effects of a flood, and a community wished that they were graced with some of that precious water.
Finally, as breezes began to stir the air once again, the wind had to tell itself that it’s impossible to please everyone. In fact, more often than not, it’s the people who have something to complain about who speak up… not those who are content with what is being done. To announce its presence, the wind blew with a mighty gust that touched every spot on Earth. The complaints began again, but this time, with images like the young boy who felt such love for el viento in mind, the wind just blew harder.

Katy Crenshaw 5th Hour