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The wind has always been in love with the trees, but they don’t always love him back.

When they dress themselves in pretty blossoms each year, the wind doesn’t know which is the prettiest, and he dances around in a craze trying to see them all. He rushes here and there, running his breezy fingers across their soft petals, and before very long the beautiful flowers are torn from the trees and billow through the air like clouds.

By summer, the trees have grown tired of the wind’s attentions, so they swap their blossomy beauty for simple clothes of green. He wanders by occasionally, but while their green dresses are pretty enough, they’re not enough to drive him crazy.

They forget his spring madness by the time autumn comes, and dress themselves in finery once more. They don beautiful clothes of red, gold and orange, and stand proud.

The wind, once more, is maddened by their beauty and once again rushes to see them all. He dances and he whirls, he spins around them until he becomes dizzy and then he dances even more. He grasps at their finery as he rushes, clutching the beautiful leaves in his fists as he flies, dropping them and catching more. Sometimes, he rushes so fast that he knocks the trees down, but he doesn’t stop rushing until winter grabs him with a bitter fist.

“Look at what you have done!”

The trees stand bare and forlorn, their gorgeous dresses of autumn gold blown into pieces and trampled into the ground. Remorse makes the wind blow cold, and he whistles a lonely, forsaken tune while winter cloaks the trees in gowns of white.

They will forgive him, soon enough, and once more make dresses of pretty blossoms, because the trees remember how much the wind loves them even when they forget how much his love can drive them mad.

© Kari Fay

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