Since I was five years old, I have gotten up every morning just before sunrise. When my parents were still about I would attempt to tiptoe across the floorboards trying my best to avoid the groans. Now I think back to it I’m sure they heard my every step but back then I felt stealthy as I went into the bathroom then down into the kitchen to grab whatever food I could. Cupcakes, a handful of ham, bananas and biscuits would be crammed into my coat pocket as I unlatched the door and stepped out into the garden.

When I say garden it is more of an extension of the fields that surround and cram their way up the hill. A ramshackle cottage out of some Christmas postcard. I’d take my ill gotten gains and clamber through the long grass towards the grand old stump. It had been a several hundred year old chestnut tree before I was born. My Mum only knew it as the stump too, but my Grandma had told stories of swinging through its branches, of how when strong winds came and knocked it down it actually formed a canopy over the house that protected them when the lightning struck.

I liked that. It seemed appropriate even if I never asked him about that. Ah yeah, I should get to the point here. You see every morning I got up this early, so I could go talk to my friend. I would sit on the stump watching the view down the hill into town for a few minutes before he would sneak up on me and grab my hand from behind. He would always spring up on me like that even after it became predictable. He’s a bit of a prankster really, the sort of person who nicks your gran’s bloomers from the washing line and wears them all round town. He’s kind too though, always has my back and when I’m not listening to him he’ll wait patiently to hear me spill my sorrows out however silly they may be. He’s a good friend. One of my best friends. Someone I should be happy to hang out with in front of everyone. There is just one little problem with that.

It’s just that he also happens to be the wind who visits our town.

Look I know it may seem silly for many reasons. Like that you can talk to the wind any time they’re about. That people can’t actually get a conversation out of the wind it would be like getting rocks to talk. The wind doesn’t have hands so how can they hold yours or do anything at all involving finger related activities. That I still do this every single day, that I haven’t grown out of it.

But. Well.

You see I know all of this and sometimes I even start to believe all of this right up until he grabs my hand and starts telling me about what he’s seen since I last saw him. Where he has travelled to far off places bringing me back news that is confirmed by the next day’s news cast.

And in a world where people can put you back together with their minds, where some people live for a thousand years and where I can get a pizza delivered to my house for under a fiver even though I live in the middle of nowhere then why can’t I talk to the wind and get a response?

I just really wish I knew someone else who talks to them too.

Damn I forgot to say at the beginning what this is exactly. I guess it seems a bit weird putting this up on a post blog along with all the recordings of people freaking out their cats with their gifts or those guys who complain that Outer gifts just aren’t as responsible as Inner gifts.

I guess it is simple really. I want people to know that this is real. That they know someone is out there like them too. I know I won’t be able to get any messages back as this is a janky service at best but hey this is out there somewhere now. Even if that ends up being some librarians back catalogue.

And also that I couldn’t quite stomach writing this all out into a journal that only I would ever read back. I’ve had enough of that. So yeah thanks for reading. I’ll update this soon with more information