Ana rested on the green hillside. Saw the twinkling stars, like jewels dangling beasts in the dark and the trees trimmed in shimmering sky. There, far away, like a monstrous fireflies, shone the reflection of the city dirty. He thought the city, far and huge, where people were like ants running between huge stones. And there was light, color and fun. And hatred, enmity and wickedness. He recalled one of his fleeting stays, walking in the shadow of huge buildings and gray, where to see the color of the sky had to raise his head. And this was tantamount to encounter people. Grunting and cursing. Had to move and walk away without a rest on the hot asphalt. He felt crushed by the concrete tower blocks, assaulted by noise, suffocated by the heat and lost in the labyrinth of avenues, streets and alleys, where there was no wind ...
'I love you whispering wind,
- How?
-I love you - whispering wind.
- Who is it? - Ana cried, leaving the city to look and observe the green hillside.
I am the wind. The wind from all winds. I am the wind from the north and east and the west wind and the south. The Whisperer at night and cries in the darkness, howling in the valley and roar across the desert. I am the wind that cries with ten thousand voices in the high peaks of the world. The waving trees and up the waves, which makes them live and die making. I am the wind that loves you.
- Oh! How can you love the wind?
The wind laughed through the branches below the flower among the rocks of the mountain. River high clouds moving and shaking the glassy surface of lakes and streams.
-I love you as a hummingbird can love. I love you for your beauty and your simplicity. I love you for your smile and your tenderness, caressing, and your songs. I enjoy seeing and admiring the fierce hawk floating in my breast and the uncertain flight of the butterfly gold. I like to accompany you on your walk in the woods and watch your steps timid gazelle in the bush.
'You're not a bad friend if you're not angry. But what about the dead in a typhoon?How a cyclone? How a hurricane? And the destroyed homes. ¿I can love you for it?
The golden leaves that the wind was at his feet cayerib fiddle, and the night was quiet and filled with oppressive vacuum, then away in the vastness, the throaty rumble of thunder. A sound of a storm.
I am the Wind of the Jurassic and Pliocene. The same wind that millions of years ago discharges accompanied with thunder and lightning that began life. What is a life or a thousand? What is represented here a hundred thousand years? Dust and ashes, as the phoenix does not exist.
Anne was silent thinking about the existence of the wind. For centuries it was like drops of water falling into the empty eternity. A world under his rule, seeing the birth of humanity and seeing it grow. Shaking the dust of civilization Like stirred the mist in the deep valleys and high mountains mist.
- What do you think? Asked the wind.
'In you,' said Anne, rising and walking home.
The wind continued to ripple the grass, bending flowers on their stems and waking up to the butterflies. Fireflies flashed in their path and crickets silenced their monotonous serenade.
Anne stood in the garden of his house and smiled in the dark, the stars, clouds, trees, wind. And the wind was moved parpedear stars and clouds and shook the trees, whispering, whispering. I love you I love you, said the dry, golden leaves falling on the road and on grass.
Ana came to her house and closed the door slowly. His mother was listening to the radio and embroidering. In front of her father was immersed in reading a book.
- Anna, my daughter! Go to sleep it's late, 'said his mother to see her appear.
Yes, mother.
- Is something wrong, girl?
Oh, no, nothing, he said, kissing his mother. Good night.
Went up to her bedroom and opened the window. The wind came with a sigh and brought the smell of pine forest and honeysuckle, the smell of violets and mint.
'See you tomorrow,' said Anna
Until tomorrow, the wind whispered.
Ana left the clean, clear backwater formed by the river in the little hollow. He paused under the small waterfall that truncated the stream and walked between tall reeds in the blazing sun and blue sky. He ran when the wind sprinkled with crystal drops of water and lay on the grass of the meadow. And while the birds stop to drink from the puddles with his naked body, the wind whipping her golden hair and caressed her cheeks and the vertices of fire from their warm breasts and whispered in their ears.
And Ana danced the night on the prairie and turned with the wind, under the eyes and the light of the stars. He ran with open arms and the wind seem to slide, and doeth he had wings and floating in the vastness of the sky. He lay listening to the murmur of the brook, in the light of the moon and the wind blew pine needles as if it were ten thousand spears of silver.
Today the wind carried the smell of birthday candles. Candles were burned and sputtered a brief moment in the dark room, reflecting the honey Ana sore eyes, while his rosy cheeks puffed and blew gently over seventeen candles Ivorian. With a soft whisper the wind blew the only one that had been lit.
Someone pressed a switch and the room was filled with light and color. Family and friends were gathered and watched Anna and she smiled with all the wind shook slightly and the flowers that filled the room. Congratulations showered full of present and future and would be accompanied by such words and wishes. The music vibrated in the air, waves and eddies, like a thousand birds singing their freedom, and Ana danced, danced with his father, uncles, cousins, friends. Again and again turned to music, song, the whisper of the wind.
Then in the evening, the farewell visit to the city. The city with its lights and windows that filled the walls, gray and red, white and yellow. Here a small garden, beyond a tiny font. And the pigeons flying over the streets and avenues and streets and alleys where there was no wind.
A light, green, yellow, red. High follow. And the wheels spinning in greased axles, rolling and moving on the black asphalt. On the left, right. Care, attention. And the red and yellow truck coming down his side lurched and swerved. Impact smashing metal and squealing as the car was spinning like a toy under the night sky and rolling wheels still tragically in a vacuum. An explosion and flames jumped into a stream of liquid gold, encrusted with garnets ruubíes and hiding the horizontal ground with sparks, sparks rising in hell.
A police siren voices. And a sinister looking crowd focused holocaust of fire ...
The petals of roses and carnations rained down on the white tomb, under a leaden sky and sad. And the wind was howling, moaning, begging.
I am the wind. The wind from all winds. I am the wind from the north and east and the west wind and the south. The wind in the high peaks of the world with ten thousand screaming voices her loneliness. I am the wind that cries for you.
