Do you like winds? As for me, I am fond of them. Very much, indeed. I like every one of them to the very extremity. I can safely say that there is no wind I don't like. They have been my life companions.
I might be a guy of winds. The guy of winds and clouds. I adore every attribute of winds: their colors, speeds, sounds and smells. I enjoy every minute of them. In windy days, every organ of me arises, making a jolly life again and again.
I had been a lonely boy living in a cottage of a remote mountain valley. Long long ago when my father had struck a flint, making a fire. I had lived with winds, clouds, wild flowers and birds.
I had commuted on foot to a preliminary school about four kilometers far from my home. I had to climb a not too high pass and go steep and rough trails. On my way home after class, when mounting the pass overlooking the cottage home, winds had welcomed me with hugs and hurrahs.
The welcome hurrahs had filled the valley. I wish you had heard the sounds and smelled the winds. Far down from the valley the winds full of the scents of mountain iris and pine trees had hugged me with all their warmth.
In windy days my dormant mind gets on its feet. Every cell of it is alive afresh. Getting my portal of consciousness with knots and warps open, I greet my winds. All the missing folks get up from the dark patios. Bridges and roads which had been disconnected are connected again.
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