Heather T Stone

Sometimes inspiration comes from an unusual tree in the woods that won’t stop staring at you.

The Wind Stands Still For Her

by Heather Stone

When she steps outside, the woods take notice. The wind stands still, just for a moment, to allow her energy just enough space to see the stars behind the bright blue morning skies. The birds fly by her so close she could reach out and pluck them from the sky and use their wings to fly to the heavens. But she needn’t step one tiny toe off the ground because the heavens, unreachable, at least in this form. But it’s this form that attracts them the most. The beauty of this form, this heart, these tears; breathtaking.

The mockingbirds call to her; the crows give away her coordinates, and the creatures come to view her just as she views the brave little gray squirrel as it jumps from tree to tree, seemingly unbothered by her presence. Or perhaps she’s gone unnoticed. Or perhaps she’s been noticed, but the timid little gray squirrel is only brave because, right now, it’s unreachable.

But she is within their reach, and their arms are outstretched and they’re reaching for her. They yearn for her; her energy is so inviting. So guarded. So impossible to touch, says the red-haired creature as she hangs off the side of a tree just watching. She wants to dance with her. She wants to grab onto her soft human hands and twirl her into oblivion and the realms beyond. But she mustn’t touch; not for wants. Only for looking, say the trees. Only for looking. Never for torture, unless the wind inspires you. Then do as you please, as unbridled as possible.

But for her, the wind stood still. And so you shall do the same, red-haired creature in the woods. Stand still and just watch. Watch her sit. Watch her cry. Watch her mourn all she has lost and all she has yet to lose. Watch her smile at the squirrel and marvel at the mockingbird. Watch her wipe away the tears she silently screamed into her palms.

Watch her from a distance and wonder. Who is this beacon and why does the wind pause? Why do the birds sit near her like she belongs on the branch by their side? Why do the deer graze beside her so close, the whites of their tales nowhere to be seen? Why can’t the red-haired creature do the same, she wonders, and hangs off the tree just watching. Just wondering.

Why does she sit so quietly, so silently, so still that the woodland creatures fear not walking the path that takes them right beside her? Why does her energy feel like it’s trying to draw everything around her into her stone walls? And why does it hurt so bad? She wants to go ask, but the boundary set forth within the human’s heart won’t let anything in, not even the red-haired creature. It’s better this way. She mustn’t touch the beacon, even if she wants to. Even if the energy is so intoxicating, she would give anything to cross that boundary and drink it all in until there is nothing left but the memories of old seasons.

The walls. The walls stay strong. The wind stays stagnant. The red-haired creature stays still. Waiting. Watching. Wondering. The wind stands still, just for a moment, and in that moment she struggles to breathe. So the red-haired creature waits to see if she suffocates. She mustn’t interfere. She mustn’t touch. Not yet at least. Not yet. But if she doesn’t breathe in again, then soon.