The Wind Within

As I put down my pan flute the breeze kissed my skin enthusiastically yet ever so slightly stirred up by dawn running past me to caress the leaves of our old trees turning them like the pages of ancient annals that hold this forest's past. Finding its way into the fields of wildflowers where it dances and frolics among them continuing on its merry way rolling gently down hills into the gorge where it is swept off by the bustling busy waters that run through it. Brushing any dirt or debris off the rocks that poke their heads above the water to look out onto the brimming valley that we woodland folk are so lucky to call our home.

It is said by our people that it was the wind who first sang and brought to us the stimulating world of music. Each whistle, whine, moan, rustle, and woosh creates a symphony from everything that lay in its path. The wind is restless. Forever moving through the world. So it is of no surprise to our people that the birds who mastered the skies, traveling amongst the wind as fish swim through the sea, were the first who learned of music, finding it within themselves. Their eternal songs bless the ears of our young and old with melodies passed down from one species kin to the next. The elders say that the wind spoke to the birds, confining in them its secrets out of admiration for their ingenuity which led them to fly high above the world in the realm of air, the most valuable of which was the gift to create music.

“For music is within us all.” said the wind to the birds. And so the birds took the same air that gave them not only flight but life and with gratitude let it out from inside their bodies giving back the wind's knowledge for all those in the world who could not hear it. Their songs were not only a testament to the power of creation but to the world's natural beauty which they viewed from the skies. From this moment on the woodland folk became obsessed with their songs. Always listening, always trying to replicate the birds' heavenly music. Many listened, and some even lived for it, attempting to wrap their minds around the sounds that came from the little creatures. A Faun by the name of Elsur figured out that he too could harness the air from the world which made up the winds and mimicked their tunes. Soon our people sang their songs back to them and the birds would come down from the skies listening to us pay our homage.

Shortly after Elsur another Faun would write his name deep into our people's memory by the name of Pafero, the inventor of flutes. He carved them from the wood of fallen trees of all shapes and sizes, intricate they were in design, and the music they produced caused a wild frenzy amongst the woodland folk. Of his creations, the best he could play was the ocarina which Pafero had created from a petrified gord and the sound that resonated from this vessel was as pure as any bird's song. It is said that when Pafero played this instrument the wind itself would stop to listen to its beautiful sound of serenity, which enchanted every creature within its range, silencing the forest. All who had ears came to listen as Pafero played and soon he became such an icon that every night the woodland folk begged him to play for them, groveling at his cloven hooves and so he played. Night after night, day after day. Great feasts and gatherings would be held in the ruins of forgotten temples of old for all to gather and listen to his masterful use of the winds within him. The birds themselves would gather in trees and on the ledges and pillars of the old structures staying so late into the night that they would sleep through the sunrise and not share their songs until the day was no longer new.

He taught all who would sit and listen and these became his disciples, who spent every waking minute trying to replicate the sounds he created with his flutes. They worshiped him. Nymphs would pleasure Pafero lusting over him. His disciples brought food and honey and built great effigies of him out of wicker. Sadly as time drew on the esteem that surrounded Pafero grew within his mind like a cancer. The jubilant Faun that all had once known became obsessed with the praise that he received from the woodland folk, lashing out at his students and turning away those who came to learn from him that did not bear gifts. No longer could all listen to his magical songs but only those who had the finest of goods to give as offerings. His downfall came from his jealousy over one of his most devoted students, Piqfoss. Piqfoss had mastered every flute and even created one of his own, the pan flute, but he like Pafero was most adept at playing the ocarina. He too was so good that the woodland folk began to shower him with a similar praise as to his master's. During this time Pafero’s envy of Piqfoss’s abilities caused him to expel his student, banning him from his teachings. So the young Faun played and played, night after night, day after day, till soon the birds gathered around and the wind itself stopped to hear him play. Hoards of the woodland folk began to come and listen to Piqfoss and many praised the benevolent musician for sharing his sounds with all who wanted to listen, not asking for goods or services in return. Now not only did those who sought to learn the ways of the flutes come to him but so did Pafero’s disciples who now feared their master's anger which would splinter off into them. Thus Pafero’s jealousy drove him to madness. One summer evening he waited till all in the forest slept and in the dead of night snuck up to where Piqfoss lay asleep, dreaming up the most mystical of songs, and crushed his head with a boulder. Unbeknownst to him, not all in the woods slept for an owl witnessed Pafero's heinous crime. Before the morning sun, the birds roared aloud an angry song that woke all in the forest. The woodland folk wept as every bird came together to sing a single song. A song that spoke to all the woodland folk as the wind had spoken to the birds centuries ago and all knew of Pafero’s terrible crime. As punishment for Piqfoss’s murder the woodland folk made a pit so deep that the darkness held in its bottommost part could not be extinguished by the sun's light. Guarded by the strongest of Centaurs Pafero was cast down into this well of blackness to die there alone, away from any music.

Even though the forest mourned the loss of their two greatest musicians the birds had yet to inform the wind of the treachery that had occurred and when the wind found out of the evil doings of Pafero, for the first time it felt anger, and in reaction created the most violent of tempests. Unleashing its own orchestrated song of chaos that roared through the forest tearing trees out from the dirt where some had stood for centuries. The temples of old were easily blown away by the most powerful of gusts which sent their carved stones flying through the air like the seeds of dandelions, tearing through flesh and bark. The rivers and streams flooded, drowning numerous innocent woodland folk and animals, the water acting like a sword carving itself deep into the landscapes leaving scars that are still present to this day. The wind's endless breath was so chilling that it brought frost in the summer wilting flowers, freezing grain, killing fruits and vegetables ripe for harvest. This song of destruction was ceaseless for days on end, dismantling the forest and killing many of the woodland folk until there was silence and the wind was calm. Those who still had their lives rebuilt, repairing the woods, planting seeds of all sorts of plants that had been dispossessed by the wind’s furry. Slowly but surely the birds returned who’d not been seen or heard in months and sang sorrowful songs of their regret to the wind and woodland folk alike. For they knew their voices had a part to play in the forest's ruination.

But these times were long ago and all those in the forest learned of wind’s true power. Since then many songs have been written about those olden days, to remind us of the past so we may learn from it and stop ourselves from repeating it.

Dawn is my favorite part of the day. I love the rising sun, its warm light showering me with a love so pure whilst the birds sing joyous songs that my ears have heard many times for their melodies are woven into the fabric of our mornings continually playing in the background of our lives. So lifting my pan flute back to my lips with the wind already dancing around me, I layered my own song over nature's harmonious tune.