by Nicole R. Dickson
On the side of a hill, near a gathering of apple trees, in a small white house, lived a little girl named Rose and Rose loved Wind.
Summer brought sunny, bright, blue-sky days and heavy, warm Wind. Rose loved to roll down the hill. She loved the green smell of crushed grass surrounding her until she reached the bottom. There she’d lie, watching the tops of the trees spin against the blue sky as Wind brushed gently over her knees and chin. After a while, Wind swirled the grasses around, tickling Rose’s ears until she finally stood to play once more. Rose loved sunny, bright, blue-sky days and Summer Wind.
Wind was always rough-housing on the walk to school during autumn. Rose squinted in the flying dust as she marched down the street. Wind pulled at her braids to keep her from reaching school. At times, Rose turned around to shove Wind with her back. Finally, she reached for the door to her classroom and pulled as Wind pushed on it to keep it closed. Placing her foot in the crack, Rose squeezed into the room. She jumped free of the door as Wind slammed it shut behind her. Then all through the day, Rose watched Wind kick brown and golden leaves around and rattle the window. On the way home, Wind and Rose continued their battle until the door to the small white house banged tightly closed with Rose inside. Rose loved blow-you-down, off-the ground Autumn Wind.
Wind became cold and shiny in the winter. Although Rose wrapped her scarf, ear-muffs, and coat so tightly around herself that she could barely walk, Wind always found a way to sting her ears and nip her nose. Rose knew that winter was Wind’s favorite season because it loved to grab flakes of snow and juggle them around before pushing the icy gifts between the rolls of her scarf. Rose loved icy-white, cold-as-night, Winter Wind.
But it was newly-swirling, playful Spring Wind that Rose loved best of all. As she walked through the flower garden with her mother, Wind picked up Rose’s braids and twirled them about, whipping her ears and neck. If Rose opened her mouth, Wind quickly stuffed a couple of them inside. Rose giggled and tried to brush her hair from her face. But Wind just calmed for a while, waited until all the hair was in place, and then gusted up, stirring the braids into one giant knot on the top of Rose’s head. Rose loved her friend Wind very much.
It was on such a spring night that Rose heard Wind’s voice for the first time. The spring showers were falling heavy and Rose heard Wind crying at her window, scratching to get in. Rose got out of bed, slid across the cool, wooden floor, and opened her window. Wind nearly knocked her down and began blowing around the room. Jumping back in bed, Rose scooted deep into her covers and went to sleep with Wind caressing her cheek and hair.
“Rose”, her mother called, shaking her gently on the shoulder, “Rose, why did you open the window?”
Squinting sleepily at her mother, Rose sat up and looked around her room. Wind had blown her toys and papers around the floor and the curtains near her window were very wet. Rose stared wide-eyed at her mother.
“Wind was knocking at my window and crying. I had to let it in,” Rose replied.
“Wind belongs outside on rainy nights- not in a little girl’s room. Now hop out of bed and help me clean up this mess.” Her mother patted her head, smiling, as Rose crawled out of bed. Wind had done a very bad job, Rose thought as she picked up her pens and crayons. After cleaning the room, Rose dressed herself and went down for breakfast.
That same evening, Rose heard Wind at her window again. She sat up in bed and called loudly to Wind, “You messed up my room last night and I am not letting you in! Mama says Wind belongs outside.”
She flopped down in bed and pulled the covers over her shoulders. Wind knocked at the window, howling. The longer she laid in bed, the louder Wind cried and the sadder Rose felt. Finally, she got out of bed.
“Alright, alright. I’ll let you in, but you better not mess up my room again.” Before Rose opened the window, she stuffed her papers and colors under her bed. Then she lifted the window and in came Wind. Rose got back in bed, tucked the covers under her chin, and whispered drowsily, “Good night, Wind”.
“Rose,” her mother asked. “What happened here?” Rose was already awake, picking up the papers from the floor.
“Mama, I put the papers and colors under my bed but Wind found them anyway.”
“Wind belongs outside on rainy nights, Rose,” her mother repeated.
“I know,” Rose replied as she looked down at her feet. “But it sounded so lonely.”
Mama and Rose finished cleaning the room and then Rose went down for breakfast.
On the third night, Wind rattled at Rose’s window, crying to get in. Putting a pillow over her head and scrunching down into her blankets, Rose tried not to listen. But the harder she tried to ignore Wind, the louder it cried. Rose rolled out of bed, opened her door, shuffled across the hall, and stood at the edge of her mother’s bed.
“Mama,” she whispered. “Wind is bumping my window again and it’s making me sad.”
Mama and Rose were silent for a moment, listening to Wind scratch at the roof.
“Wind does sound lonely tonight,” Mama agreed. “Would you like sleep in my bed?”
Rose crawled over her mother and snuggled close in the toasty covers.
“Mama, Wind sounds so sad at night. It doesn’t have anybody to play with and it cries.”
“Yes, honey, Wind does sound sad. We’ll see if we can help it out tomorrow.”
Mama kissed Rose’s head and they both went to sleep.
In the morning, Rose dressed herself and went down for breakfast. She grabbed her backpack, stuffed her lunch inside it, and kissed her mother good-bye as she kicked open the screen. As always, Wind was there, twirling her braids all the way to school.
That afternoon, Rose skipped into the house and tossed her backpack on the floor. She walked into the kitchen.
“Hallo, Mama.”
“Hallo, Rose. Look what I bought today.”
On top of the kitchen table, Rose found a small , brown box with a card on it near her chair. Rose turned to her mother.
“Open it,” Mama said as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel.
Opening the card, Rose read, “To: Wind From: Your friend, Rose and her Mama.”
Rose opened the box and there, underneath the tan wrapping paper, she counted seven green metal tubes. She tried to pull one out but found that it was attached to all the rest with a leather string, making it too heavy to lift.
“Need some help?” Mama asked and Rose nodded.
As her mother lifted it from the box, the green gift sounded like many little bells ringing. Rose looked at the seven tubes dangling down from a whale-shaped hook. Strung together in a circle, the pipes made music as they were hit by a small stone which hung on a string in their center. At the bottom of the string, was a flat piece of metal.
“What is it?” Rose asked.
“It’s a wind-chime. Would you like to hold it?”
“Yes, please,” Rose replied.
Mama hooked the heavy wind-chime on two of Rose’s fingers and pointed to the back door. As Rose walked, the pipes tinkled and clanged their happy tune. Standing underneath Rose’s window, Mama took the whale-shaped hook from Rose’s little hand and hung the wind-chime on the shiny nail driven into the eve. Mama peered down at Rose, smiling.
“A wind-chime,” she repeated. “A toy for Wind to play with while you sleep.”
Mama bent down and picked Rose up so she could play Wind’s new toy. Rose gave her mother a kiss and they both went in for dinner.
That night Rose laid in her warm bed. She heard Wind at her window. She listened to Wind cry for a while and then suddenly, she heard one of the chimes ring gently. As she laid there, Rose held her breath until she heard another ding and then a dong until the whole instrument was ringing with Wind’s joyful song. Rose giggled and rolled over, happily.
“Good night, Wind,” she whispered. “See you tomorrow” – and she drifted off to sleep.
As she slept, Rose dreamt of dancing on a warm, summer’s day beneath an apricot sky to the music of her friend, Wind.
c March 1997 Nicole R Dickson all rights reserved
