Through the wood the little breeze licks the loose leaves as it curls its way around. Gently bouncing off trees and shrubs alike, silent but ever present, it dances as it makes its own way ever forward. Aiming to be free from the restrictions of the forest, and out into the open. Ready and prepared to gust forward with all of its acquired might at the right time.
That’s the dream of the Zephyr. To reach the point of freedom. Of no return. To let go, and keep going. Howling. Whistling. And relishing the exuberance of going with the flow.
Absolutely nothing to do with Halloween this. Just felt an urge to write about wind. I’m sure it’s a spell… but sometimes, you just have to do it!
The Mansionic Perspective 
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