In the Wind

As far back as she could remember, her favorite story had always been about the young woman who spent every night on the edge of the cliffs. From when she herself was very young, she'd be tucked in bed, pleading for her mother to tell her the tale. She must have heard it a hundred times - her mother a saint for repeating it upon request.

It was back when great wooden ships patrolled the oceans. Tracing trade roots, avoiding pirates, and plundering others that crossed their paths. A time long forgotten. When reading was done by candle light, the world was thought to be flat, and kings still had their reign. There was once a town, nestled among the rolling hills, not far from the northern coast. Perched high upon the cliffs. It was absolutely gorgeous. Travelers from all around used to come and marvel at the beauty - soak in its brilliance. It wasn't just a town known for its radiance - but for its port. Many goods flowed in and out of the harbor to the rest of the world. Within this town was a young couple - deeply in love. Absolutely inseparable. Their affection for one another radiated in everything they did together.

Yet everyday they became separated. For the young man worked in the port on a fishing vessel. Each and every night, he and the rest of the crew would set sail, following the moon's reflection on the water, deep out into the ocean, hoping to catch a great bounty to bring back to the market the next morning. And every night, she'd stand on the edge of the cliff, watching the ship make its way from the protected bluffs out into the open sea. As she'd stand there, she'd let herself begin singing. Beautiful, airy melodies that seemed to get caught within the wind and carry for miles. Some people in the village swore she had the voice of an angel - waiting up at night, hoping to hear a passing note somewhere in the evening breeze. She'd stand, singing until the vessel was no longer visible on the horizon. It was her way of protecting him.

And the very next morning, she'd be there, waiting for him on the docks. Warm breakfast in hand. Ready for his arrival. It was a daily routine. Everyone in the town knew it. Everyone expected it. They were all jealous for what those two had - each other.

But one night, as she stood out on the bluff, she could make out a storm brewing just over the horizon. Large bulbous clouds, black enough to stand out against the starry sky. Great bolts of lightning jumped between the columns - illuminating the sky viciously. She was scared. It was exactly in the direction they were headed. So she sang louder. With more passion than she ever had. But by the time she had begun, the winds of the storm had started to blow ashore, howling in the night - drowning out her sweet melody. She battled all she could, for as long as she could. Until it started raining down upon her. Plastering her dress against her skin. With every great gust, she only bellowed louder - trying to force her voice out to her loved one. Letting him know she was there - protecting him.

When the next morning finally broke, she waited and waited. Breakfast in hand. But his boat never returned. It wasn't until later, almost at dusk that pieces began washing ashore. Large chunks of wood, smashed and splintered. A rescue ship was sent out in hope to find survivors, but no one was found.

She didn't know what to do with herself. There was nothing left. The ocean had stolen him from her. For the next few days she quietly made her rounds throughout the village, making sure to spend time with everyone she loved and had loved her. Giving each of them their moment. And then one night, she made her way out to the cliffs and began singing her final song. More heartfelt than she ever had. Filled with great sorrow. When she approached its end, she stepped off the edge, letting the final note carry out above her on the wind. She was ready to be reunited with him.

As depressing and haunting as the story was, there was something that had resonated with her as a child. Laying in bed, she had always pictured the woman's beauty. Wondered what the man's face looked like. Where in the village they lived.

And now that she was older, she'd find herself occasionally driving to those very cliffs late at night and just sitting, watching the horizon, hoping that maybe she'd see a ship. But the real magic happened when the sky was clear and the wind was wiping through the rocks - swirling between the alcoves and amongst the bluffs. On those special nights, she swore, lost somewhere within the howling gusts, she could her a melody. Light and beautiful.

Echoing out into the night.