To Capture the Wind
Once there was a boy,
A young boy.
He had a sensitive heart
And was full of sweet innocence,
Immune to the ways of the cruel, cruel world.
His large brown eyes a window into the very
Soul
Of this child.
And he had great imagination,
But his mother was doubtful of her own
Belief in magic,
And so she thought it to not be real
Though she said nothing to her son,
Whom she loved.
And one day,
The boy took an empty honey jar
And to his mother he said,
“I wish to capture the wind.”
And again his mother was doubtful
This time to let him go,
For she knew his heart would be broken,
When his imagination failed him.
But he was so innocent,
So eager,
So trusting,
That she couldn’t refuse his sweet face.
And so the boy set out
To capture the wind.
He went out into the weak winter sunlight,
And looked about.
All the colorful autumn leaves had fallen,
Now but a shell of their former glory.
The grass was brown and dead,
Withered.
Bitter cold nipping at his face, his ears and fingers.
But the boy was not discouraged,
For he was going to
Capture the wind.
So he took his jar, and waited for a breeze.
And the breeze came.
With a light in his eyes,
The boy leapt about
And closed the jar on a breath of
Wind.
Yet when he unscrewed the jar,
To see what he had caught,
Nothing was there,
But the cold, cold air,
And no
Wind.
Disappointed, the boy hung his head
As a tear rolled down one cheek.
But determined, he tried again to
Capture the wind.
He tried and tried, but to no avail.
The saying, “If you don’t succeed, try, try again,”
Rang in his ears like a deep brass bell.
As the boy tried,
And tried again,
Believing…
For hours.
Come duskfall, his hands were numb, his lips chapped
And his cheeks flushed pink from the cold.
A disheartened light in his tired eyes.
And when his mother called him in for dinner,
He came in with cold fingers
And an empty honey jar.
He didn’t know whether to believe in the magic in his heart
Or not.
Because he had failed
To capture the wind.
His mother had known the day would come sooner or later,
As he grew older and more mature.
Yet it still saddened her knowing eyes.
The boy’s dinner tasted like ashes to him,
And though he told himself he still believed,
His heart was failing him.
And he cried himself to sleep,
For he hadn’t
Captured the wind.
And all his troubles had been for naught.
And the boy despaired.
He slept restlessly.
And then, in the middle of the night,
He awoke suddenly
From a dream he couldn’t remember.
Something was out there.
He instinctively got out of bed and crossed him room,
Going to a window,
Looking out into the night for something not there.
And he was disheartened.
But then,
Suddenly,
A snowflake fell from the leaden sky.
Slowly and silently.
The boy held his breath as he watched it flutter down,
Then he opened his window,
And stretched out his hand,
To catch it on one fingertip,
Perfect in its crystalline beauty.
Cold and pure,
Untouched by the worries of this world.
Then more snow came,
Soft and fluffy,
Blanketing the ground,
The trees,
The houses.
And the snowfall was magical,
For it was the first snow of the season.
And still the boy watched,
For what he knew not.
And then he saw a shape,
A silent shape,
Dancing on the wind,
In the form of a doe.
Transparent as glass,
Yet
Real
As
Magic.
The spirit doe showed all around her,
The snow laden trees,
The soft white ground,
The dark night sky
And the moon, high above.
She was beautiful,
Regal, enchanting,
Mysterious.
Twisting on the breeze,
Wild and free.
The essence of wind.
And the boy watched her
With the light of magic in his wondering brown eyes.
And he believed again.
Then the wind spirit was gone,
Dancing with light, graceful steps
Back into the stark, frozen trees
But not before the spirit doe looked right at him,
With the light of the moon in her eyes.
And she was gone.
And the boy understood her magic,
Why the wind spirit eluded him,
Why he couldn’t
Capture the wind.
Because she was free.
And the boy loved the
Wind
In the form of a doe,
And he was content in
His knowledge
That she couldn’t be captured,
For the boy loved her.
And then the sun rose.
Once there was a boy,
A young boy.
He had a sensitive heart
And was full of sweet innocence,
Immune to the ways of the cruel, cruel world.
His large brown eyes a window into the very
Soul
Of this child.
And he had great imagination,
But his mother was doubtful of her own
Belief in magic,
And so she thought it to not be real
Though she said nothing to her son,
Whom she loved.
And one day,
The boy took an empty honey jar
And to his mother he said,
“I wish to capture the wind.”
And again his mother was doubtful
This time to let him go,
For she knew his heart would be broken,
When his imagination failed him.
But he was so innocent,
So eager,
So trusting,
That she couldn’t refuse his sweet face.
And so the boy set out
To capture the wind.
He went out into the weak winter sunlight,
And looked about.
All the colorful autumn leaves had fallen,
Now but a shell of their former glory.
The grass was brown and dead,
Withered.
Bitter cold nipping at his face, his ears and fingers.
But the boy was not discouraged,
For he was going to
Capture the wind.
So he took his jar, and waited for a breeze.
And the breeze came.
With a light in his eyes,
The boy leapt about
And closed the jar on a breath of
Wind.
Yet when he unscrewed the jar,
To see what he had caught,
Nothing was there,
But the cold, cold air,
And no
Wind.
Disappointed, the boy hung his head
As a tear rolled down one cheek.
But determined, he tried again to
Capture the wind.
He tried and tried, but to no avail.
The saying, “If you don’t succeed, try, try again,”
Rang in his ears like a deep brass bell.
As the boy tried,
And tried again,
Believing…
For hours.
Come duskfall, his hands were numb, his lips chapped
And his cheeks flushed pink from the cold.
A disheartened light in his tired eyes.
And when his mother called him in for dinner,
He came in with cold fingers
And an empty honey jar.
He didn’t know whether to believe in the magic in his heart
Or not.
Because he had failed
To capture the wind.
His mother had known the day would come sooner or later,
As he grew older and more mature.
Yet it still saddened her knowing eyes.
The boy’s dinner tasted like ashes to him,
And though he told himself he still believed,
His heart was failing him.
And he cried himself to sleep,
For he hadn’t
Captured the wind.
And all his troubles had been for naught.
And the boy despaired.
He slept restlessly.
And then, in the middle of the night,
He awoke suddenly
From a dream he couldn’t remember.
Something was out there.
He instinctively got out of bed and crossed him room,
Going to a window,
Looking out into the night for something not there.
And he was disheartened.
But then,
Suddenly,
A snowflake fell from the leaden sky.
Slowly and silently.
The boy held his breath as he watched it flutter down,
Then he opened his window,
And stretched out his hand,
To catch it on one fingertip,
Perfect in its crystalline beauty.
Cold and pure,
Untouched by the worries of this world.
Then more snow came,
Soft and fluffy,
Blanketing the ground,
The trees,
The houses.
And the snowfall was magical,
For it was the first snow of the season.
And still the boy watched,
For what he knew not.
And then he saw a shape,
A silent shape,
Dancing on the wind,
In the form of a doe.
Transparent as glass,
Yet
Real
As
Magic.
The spirit doe showed all around her,
The snow laden trees,
The soft white ground,
The dark night sky
And the moon, high above.
She was beautiful,
Regal, enchanting,
Mysterious.
Twisting on the breeze,
Wild and free.
The essence of wind.
And the boy watched her
With the light of magic in his wondering brown eyes.
And he believed again.
Then the wind spirit was gone,
Dancing with light, graceful steps
Back into the stark, frozen trees
But not before the spirit doe looked right at him,
With the light of the moon in her eyes.
And she was gone.
And the boy understood her magic,
Why the wind spirit eluded him,
Why he couldn’t
Capture the wind.
Because she was free.
And the boy loved the
Wind
In the form of a doe,
And he was content in
His knowledge
That she couldn’t be captured,
For the boy loved her.
And then the sun rose.
I know this is a long poem, and it could just as well be a story. It doesn't even rhyme. I know it probably has no place among all these other amazing entries, and I know that; but when I saw that doe this is what came into mind and I had to put it up. Thanks for your time! Good luck everyone!
~Nellas
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