I was on an evening walk with my sister a few months back and we came across an abandoned house. I have a fascination for abandoned houses, cars and things that have no value for other people. I often see stories beneath the decay and the destruction. It makes me want to know its story and about the people who owned it and decided to then disown it.
Last night, I was going through my photo gallery and found this picture I had taken on that evening and I felt like making an entry in my journal.
Have you heard of the rumours about the Wind inside the empty house at the end of the street?
It’s been a while but the tale I’ve heard is true. My neighbours believe that the Wind was trapped inside the windowless house. Once, she tried to escape. A chunk of the side wall collapsed but the Wind couldn’t leave. Her cries were heard in the entire street but everyone slept in silence.
Now, as I pass by this beautiful house, I can hear her singing at the beat of the rattling window frames. It really sounds like whistling, but I imagine she sings as she floats in the dark, thinking about the good days she spent with the clouds in the sky.
I suppose the leaves provide her with enough solace to go on with her existence, but the melancholic sound of her singing makes me think it’s never going to be enough.
How could it ever be enough?
Is there anything that can ever replace the freedom of flying at your own will? If there anything that can be more painful than the invisible bars that trap you? Is there anything worse than confinement and captivity?
I hope with all my heart that the Wind remembers who she is, and what she is capable of. I hope she hasn’t forgotten that she is unconquerable and fierce. And one day, she’ll break all the walls of the house and will meet her Sky, once again.