The little breeze blew wherever he pleased. He was a sensitive breeze, a gentle breeze, so much so that sometimes he was confused with a zephyr. He didn’t want to disturb anybody, the little breeze simply wanted to fly to wherever his instinct took him.
He knew some breezes would show off and blow out candles, or, blow over buildings. The little breeze had no desire to wind himself up into the huff of a hurricane. It seemed like so much work. All the spinning around- and at such a torrid pace!- all the knocking over, uprooting, tearing down, really, just the amount of manual labor involved in being a hurricane didn’t interest the little breeze at all.
‘Not to mention the ego of it all,’ thought the little breeze. ‘I mean, I’m just a little breeze, who am I to cause such destruction? I’m here to caress, to bless the skin, washing it with sweet succor from the summer sun. I’m here to help, not hurt. I don’t even wanna blow away somebody’s napkin.’
Yet, the little breeze did love to let loose and go as fast as he could. He only allowed himself to unleash himself when there was nothing but dirt or grass to blow through. The little breeze blew through the park, slowing down when approaching the thick of trees, not wanting to disturb any leaves.
So it was by accident that the little breeze tore the petal off the tulip. The little breeze had closed his eyes and taken a deep breath the second he flew past the garden of tulips.
“Hey!” the tulip with the torn petal cried out.
The little breeze stopped in his tracks and exhaled a puff of air. He looked down and saw the torn petal and realized what he had done.
“Sorry.” He meant it.
“Watch where you’re going!” the tulip sniped at the breeze.
Suddenly all thoughts of speed seemed so stupid. Why had the little breeze been in such a rush to speed across the field when he was missing such a sight as this tulip? Even with her torn petal she looked beautiful.
‘Her torn petal! I’ve damaged her before we’ve even met!‘ the little breeze panicked, sweeping the red petal up from the ground with a gust of his breath, raising the petal, trying to put it back in place on the tulip.
The tulip laughed. “Are you trying to fix me? Don’t bother. Once it’s off, it can’t be put back on.”
It crushed the little breeze to think he had done irreparable damage to such beauty. “I’m so sorry. I’m usually so careful. I had my eyes closed, I didn’t see you.”
“You’re the breeze, you can go wherever you want. I guess it’s ridiculous me yelling at you, I’m sorry.” Now it was the tulip’s turn to apologize.
“No, no, you have every right to be angry. I may be the breeze, but, that just means I should be more careful cause I affect so much. I really don’t want to hurt anyone.”
The tulip lifted herself to his words and smiled. “I have never heard the wind talk like this. Actually, I’ve never heard the wind talk at all. Just whistle and occasionally moan. What’s with the moaning?”
“I don’t know. I never moan. Maybe that breeze is sad.”
“You seem more sensitive than other breezes,” the tulip said.
“I can’t speak for other breezes, but, yeah, I feel things. I feel everything that passes through me deeply. That’s why I sometimes like to go so fast over empty spaces, so I feel nothing but speed.”
“I wish I could go with you.”
“But you’re a flower. You have to stay here. You’re literally rooted here.”
“First, thank you for telling me what I am. Now let me tell you another thing about me, I’m an adventurer. I’m a traveler and I want to go with you.”
“A traveler? Where have you ever gone?”
“In my mind, everywhere. Let’s go some where new. Can you carry me along with you for a while?”
“I can’t take you. If I uproot you, then what?”
“I’ll be fine. Let’s go to some far off place.”
“How am I supposed to carry you?”
“The same way you carried the petal from the ground and tried to put it back on me. Just pick me up and let’s go!”
And that’s how that tulip got taken on the ride of her life, flying as far as the end of the street before she landed on a compose heap to begin the cycle of life again. And when she came back as rain she had no memory of ever being a tulip.