Spring in Kansas means unpredictable weather and storms... lots of storms. And storms mean wind. It also means noisy evenings of wind whistling in the rafters of our creaky old home.
Worried his siblings were being unkind to him, I wiped my hands and followed him. Instead of leading me to the playroom, though, he ran to the sliding glass door leading to our back patio. He pointed and exclaimed over and over, looking up at me quizzically, intense and slightly disturbed. “What is it, baby?” I asked. There was nothing out there.
Suddenly a gust of wind sprang up and he got quiet, smashing his nose on the glass and watching the rope swing blow, the leaves swirl, and a tennis ball roll by. He pointed and whispered, “Uh?” I squatted down and said, “Wind, John Paul; that’s called wind.” “Ooooh.” His eyes shone and he turned his rapt attention back to the glass. In awe of the moment, I backed slowly out of the room, leaving him to his observations. He stayed there, musing, till dinner.
Many nature lessons will follow in his life, hopefully they will all be as awe-inspiring as the discovery of the wind.
"Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by."