"The Journey of a wandering wind 🍃."

I am the wind. You don’t see me, but you feel me.

I have no name, no face, no home—yet I’ve traveled more places than you can imagine.

I rise with the first blush of dawn and drift silently beneath stars no one notices anymore.

My story is not written in books, but etched into the hearts of those who pause long enough to listen.

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Mountains: The First Whisper

My journey began between the whispering pines of a high mountain range. Up there, time slows. Everything breathes with meaning.

I brushed over snow-covered peaks and dipped into valleys cradling still lakes like secrets.

The birds soared with me, and the cold kissed me like an old friend.

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Deserts: Silence and Solitude

From there, I drifted to a desert, where the heat burned even me. The sand didn’t resist; it danced with me.

There, I met silence in its purest form. A lone traveler walked beneath the blistering sun, his thoughts louder than his steps.

I cooled his brow and wrapped around his tired limbs.

He paused, smiled, and whispered, “Thank you.” That moment—just that—made the endless miles worthwhile.

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Oceans and Questions

By dusk, I had crossed to the sea. The waves welcomed me with thunderous applause, and the gulls sang over my shoulders.

I played with the hair of a girl sitting by the shore, her notebook open, her eyes full of questions.

She looked up as if I had the answers. Maybe I did.

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Cities: Sighs and Secrets

I swirled around children chasing bubbles and listened to old men telling stories on forgotten benches.

From cities, I carry the sighs of overworked fathers and the prayers of mothers whispered into the night.

I slip through crowded buses, between buildings where no sky can be seen.

I press against cold glass windows where children dream of freedom.

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Hope and Memory

Sometimes, I pass a hospital window.

The breath of a newborn fills me with hope.

The final exhale of someone dearly loved fills me with memory.

I carry them both—the beginning and the end.

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The Cost of Freedom

They say I’m free, and maybe that’s true.

But freedom has its own kind of loneliness.

No one waits for me. No one misses me when I’m gone.

Yet I come and go with purpose.

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Wounds and Wonders

Once, I passed through a broken town.

War had left ashes in the air and silence in the streets. Even I, invisible as I am, felt heavy there.

I picked up a torn ribbon tied to a fence and carried it away, gently.

Maybe someone will find it someday and remember the girl who tied it there.

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On Days I Play

And then there are days I play.

I tickle kites and race sparrows, rustle curtains in a sleepy home, where a child giggles without knowing why.

On those days, I believe I am more than just wind. I am joy.

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The Quiet Goodbye

Now, as I drift again, I realize this:

I have touched so many lives, yet no one can touch me.

I do not stay, but I leave something behind.

A lifted spirit. A cooled brow. A remembered smile.

I am the wind. Wandering. Eternal.

You may not see me.

You may not remember me.

But I’ve passed through your life.

And in some quiet way, I’ve changed it.

And if ever you feel the breeze against your cheek on a quiet evening, remember—it might just be me, whispering hello.

## nature 💫##

# story of wind 🍃🍃🍃🍃# #

Thanks for reading 🌺😊🌺💫.

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