Wind. What do we know about it? Where is it from? Where is it going? Some love it, it's gentle with them- carries coolnes on hot days, fuels the cold night's fire. Others hate it, it ruins their hair, its howl causes terror. It's everywhere and in everything, with everyone and with no one... I want to be everywhere and with everyone, but at the same time love solitude. I don't understand myself, let alone anyone else; it's difficult to think of yourself as wind, it's a struggle with the irreparable and reveling in carelessness. It's a thousand "why's?" It's a million wishes and aspirations. A lover called me "Wind." From that moment I knew my name. When you understand your true name, it gets easier--Sasha Belyaeva
(excerpt from Brenda Hillman's "Piece's of Air in the Epic")
