Therapist of the Wind

 

 

 

 

            The wind whisked into my office, unannounced, whooping its’ wordless pain as it blew open my door.

                        “I am utterly transparent,” it moaned on my couch, “it’s rare that anyone knows I’m even around.” 

It spun in place, sucking dust to form its clothes, and exploded upwards in swelling indignation. 

                        “And when they do notice me, they act like I’m intruding, and, did you know, doctor, sometimes they                                even run?”      

                       “So, you feel Isolated,” I said, as I reached to pick up my pad.  “perhaps that leaves you anxious or                                     depressed?”

                       “Nooooooo!”  the wind whistled, as it wound through the office eaves.  “There’s no past differences to                             rue or future changes that offer fear, for I puff each new day exactly as I did the last.”

                       “And that leaves you feeling what?”  I asked the room in a louder voice, “Disappointed? Apathetic? Lacking                         joy?”

                       “Yessssssss!” the wind agreed, swirling quickly around my chair, “and it robs the ardor of my true                                     aspiration.”

                       “Which is what?” I asked softly, as the wind drafted away.  It slipped into the fireplace and warbled in                               brick walls.   

                       “To speak for the mute and to move the immobile, and, sometimes, on rare occasions, toss the hair of the                         mortal fair.”