The Secret Gift

As the sun sets with summer's gentle glow, two figures sit in companionable silence. The porch swing they shared moved slowly in the evening breeze. As the sound of a piano drifted out of the house, the old woman looked down at the tousled head that rested against her shoulder. She cocked her head for a moment as though listening to something, a curious smile brightening her time worn features. With a gentle nudge she got the child's attention.

"Do you wanr to hear a secret?" She chuckled as the child sat up instantly.

"What is it" The child's eyes widened in surprise, then leaned in with an excited whisper. "Does Momma know?"

The old woman sat listening to the strains of Chopin that drifted from the front parlor. Grinning down at her small companion, she shook her head. "No. I never told any of my children, although of them all, your mother might have understood"

"Were you a spy? did Grampa know? or were you - ?" When the child took a deep breath, the woman raised her hand to stem the onslaught of curiousity.

She laughed as her grandchild sat back with barely restrained excitment. "No, it isn't anything as glamourous as being a spy; but its a secret even your grandfather never knew. You and I are family, but I think we have even more then that in common. Here, look at this."

The old woman tugged on a long silver chain that had been hidden in the front of her dress, a small white whistle slid into view. Its slim length seemed to gather the remaining sunlight, making it glow in the evening shadows. Her fingers curled around it before a small hand could reach for it.

"What is that?" The child's eyes were weilded to the womans hand.

"This is my secret, my dear. A wonderous treasure I have cherished for a long time. I'm not sure what its made of though, it could be wood or stone, perhaps some old bone." Her gnarled fingers caressed the ivory length, then placed it in the folds of her skirt effectively hiding it from view "I can only guess at its origins, I've had it a very long time and shown it to no one"

"Where did you get it? Who gave it to you?"

Indicating the small table set beside the swing, she smiled slightly at her grandchild. "If you would pour me a fresh cup of tea, please dear, I'll tell you. Then come settle yourself in." The piano continued its melody, but it seemed far away as she began her tale.

"I was about your age, yes that does seem a long time ago. I used to spend my summers on my grandfather's farm. He had an enormous stretch of woodland and more often then not, I could be found wandering under the green leafy canopy, or resting in the lower branches of the ones I could reach. I had been laying cradled between the gnarled roots of a massive old willow tree, dreamily watching the dancing leaves above me. I was almost lulled to sleep when I became aware of the sound of music, it was a simple melody, something a child might play. I scrambled to my feet wondering who else was in my grandfather's woods. It was a low sound that seemed to grow fainter as I moved away from the old willow, so I turned and moved back to the tree. I began to to believe that the lovely sound was comming from the tree itself.

I stood there in wonder staring up into the gently swaying branches, shafts of sunlight pierced the green giant's canopy making it glow with a golden light. There was nothing up there except the wind and music. I began to climb as quickly as possible, the sound drawing me up the massive trunk. The limbs were so thick and wide I could walk along them, stepping upward on a living stairs. A breeze made the leaves rustle and sway like a long green lace curtain. When I paused, I was sure I heard a faint shivery laugh brush past my ear. When I turned to look, there hung a slender white whistle dangling from a silver chain emmbedded in the thick limb above me. The wind turned and twisted it with invisible fingers drawing the soft notes from it, when the wind stilled, so did the song.

I reached up to touch it, something was carved on its surface but I couldn't quite make out what it was. When I wrapped my hand around it a warm shock raced down my arm and into my chest. I stumbled back still holding the whistle, for a moment I thought the silver chain would hold my weight, then it snapped. I dropped the whistle as I grabbed for the nearest branch to keep from following it it down and out of the tree. I looked down between my feet at the ground that seemed so far away, there at the end of a long green tunnel lay the whistle, looking no bigger then a white toothpick.

The journey down seemed to last a lot longer then going up had, when I finally reached the bottom I crouched over my strange treasure. I stared in complete wonder at the tiny birds and leaves that decorated its surface. The birds seemed alive and moving, I reached for it and sat back with a thump as another shock raced up my arm. Before I could drop it a cool head clearing wind blewthrough me, reassuring and refreshening. I held my breath as magic tingled in my hand, and without hesitation I lifted the whistle to my lips and blew a long sweet note that seemed to hang suspened in the air. The tiny breeze that had played in the trees stilled, then the single note seemed to echo across the summer sky, playing on and on.

When the last faint echo died away, a heavy golden silence filled the woods, as if each tree held its breath waiting. I too held myself still, unsure of what might happen next. Suddenly a blast of wind shivered the leaves and grass; slamming into me, it spun me around, tugging at my hair and clothes. Voices and laughter rode the miniture whirlwind, weaving in and out of some far away song. As quickly as it came, the whirlwind blew onward and away on some other journey. I stood there, breathless and dazed, listening to the birds in the trees as things slowly returned to normal, little noises that reassured me that all that was strange had gone. I looked down at the whistle in my hand, awed by the treasure I had found. I slipped it inside my shirt, making it secure so as not to lose it.

I told no one of my discovery. At night I would lie awake under my window playing softly on the whistle. A west wind would slip inside to tousle my hair or tickle my cheek, carrying exotic scents and whispered tales. Stories of strangefar off lands filled my head long before I knew such places were real.

On the long walks between my home and school a tiny twister would spring up in the oddest places, whipping around me with silvery laughter. It would tug at my sweater or books then suddenly race off leaving me windblown and happy. The west wind would find me sitting under red and gold trees marveling at the autumn colors, then shower me in cherry blossoms or some other out of season or unlikely flower. How I laughed to see fallen leaves do impossible dances across the forest floor. Sometimes while lying in my grandfathers hammock, a breeze would wander over and set the swing in motion with a gentle push and the distant sound of music. As the winter snows came I would be buffeted by icy northern winds that pelted me with snow and shoved me along icy paths. It would shake the trees until the icicles rang like windchimes, or it pushed back my hood to dump snowflakes down the back of my neck. The spring in turn brought madcap winds that rushed by filled with the scent of growing things and warm promises to come, then dance about before gusting away. So season followed season, the years rolled on.

The Piano had stopped and full dark had crept out over the yard. Night insects and the clatter of dishes from inside the house filled the silence that had settled over the old woman. Finally she stirred when the child began to squirm restlessly. "I was thinking about the time I lost it" She said.

"You lost it?" The childs voice was high and incredulous.

"Yes. Well more like I had forgotten about it really." She laughed as the small figure sat up and stared at her with wide eyes. "I know that seems like an impossible thing, yet its true. My life had begun taking new paths and everything was changing."

"The time came when I left my childhood behind. My father had given me the money to move to the city in search of employment. It wasn't long before I had both work and an apartment, although neither were very grand. The apartment was in a tired old nieghbourhood with faded signs and broken sidewalks. THe rooms were small and the only window faced an uninspiring brick wall, and the only fresh air was generated by a squeaky old ceiling fan that spun in constant slow circles. My job as a secretary was in a busy downtown law office, the hours were long and dreary and my work space was a tiny cucicle I could barely turn around in.

I never had time to play my beloved whistle, it lay carefully packed in my belongings and the winds failed to find me in my ever increasing loneliness. The magic faded away as if it had all been some wistful child's dream, gone were the windblown stories and the playful silvery laughter that had been my constant companion at home.

Instead all there was was a chilling wind that smelled of the harbour it blew in from, carrying the stench of fish and rot. Occassionally on my dash from office to train station, a gentle breeze would steal over me with scents of home, the kind that filled me with such unbearable sadness, but usually it would be a silent vengeful blast. It twisted and pulled painfully on my hair like some angry child, waiting for my fingers to loosen on the clutch of papers I aqlways seemed to be carrying. A few times the wind would manage to tease a few papers loose and when I grabbed for them, it would send them fountianing up out of my arms, flying over my head and down the street. During those attempts to torment me, I often heard high mocking laughter flit by.

The old woman paused, thinking of those days of elemental spite. Before she could continue, the child's mother called from within the house. :There now, your mother wants you for bed" As her grandchild began to protest, she shook her head and slipped the whistle back inside her dress. "Go on up and get yourself ready for the night. I'll be up in a few minutes and we'll continue where we left off. Now off you go before your mother has to come looking for you."

The moment she was alone, she rose to her feet and walked over to the broad steps leading into the yard. Moonlight silvered the grass and darkened the shadows under the old willow that swayed in the soft breeze. Stepping out onto the velvety lawn she looked up into the stars, her eyes bright with memories. THe wind rose around her, rubbing up against her like a cat. She leaned into the invisible fingers that caressed her cheek, with a smile and a whispered word she sent it on its way and turned back to the house.

She found the child ready and waiting, a cup of warm milk tucked in small hands. Settling into the rocker under the window, she closed her eyes in hopes of sorting through all the memories. Finally she looked over at her young audience and smiled. "You've been very patient, my dear. Now get yourself comfortable."

Eventually the wind whistle stayed in the box of childhood keepsakes and daydreams. I had forgotten the magic that rested in its slim length and the friendship I had cherished with the winds. LIfe moved on, I had new friends and responsibilities, there always seemed to be a task that needed doing, but no time for the wishful fancy of youth. The wind spoke to me no more, except the night I met your grandfather

He was a kind and gentle man who woke that tiny bit of magic we all carry in our souls. We met one night on the pier, we had both been walking along the broadwalk watching the wind tossed bay. I had been listening to the sound of wind and wave, certain I could hear singing, yet more then half amused at my imagination. So absorbed was I that I literally walked right into him, we reached to steady each other. The moment our eyes met it was love at first sight as we stood locked in each others gaze, I heard clearly the wild and joyous music of the wind over the water. It wasn't long after that we were married, and although I never forgot that magical night, it got pushed to the back of my mind.

We found a house to raise our children in, it was outside the city with a lovely garden and a huge willow reigning over the backyard. The sight of that majestic tree stirred long buried memories, and the whistle surfaced in my thoughts. Once settled in our new home, I began to search for that lost treasure among the many boxes I had dragged around with me over the years.

For many months it stayed hidden, I began to fear that I had either lost or given it away. I dreamed of it and a yearning filled me as I lay beneath the bedroom window listening to the swish and rustle of the old tree. It wasn't until I decided to decorate the nursery for our first child that I heard a long forgotten tune on the wind. The window had been wide open and a gust blew in carrying the smell of sun scorched pavement and dusty smog. The wind had brought the smell of the city with it as it chased around the room, then raced back out the way it had come. I walked over to the window and leaned out over the sill, only to have the wind throw a handful of snow white petals in my face. I staggered back into the room with the wind following, it spun the flowers around and into every corner of the nursery, then rushed out the window leaving the petals drifting about the room like enormous snowflakes.

In a daze I swept up the flowers, and when I opened the one tiny closet in search of errant petals, I found two boxes waiting unopened. One was new and recognizable as the one containing odds and ends for the baby's room, but the other sent a thrill through me as I examined the ragged flaps and old scribbled handwriting. With hands that shook a little, I pulled it into the light and opened it.

At first I pulled out nothing more than an old diary, a couple of snapshots and an old faded banner. I reached almost to the bottom and felt my fingers brush against the thin velvet I had lovingly wrapped around the whistle, even through the wrapping I felt a tiny jolt of recognition flood through me. It was like comming home to an old and dearly missed friend. My breath caught as I opened the worn cloth. There it lay, smaller than my hand and gleaming softly in the morning light, the intricate carvings were as vivid as the day I found it in the tree. I was afraid to put it to my lips, fearing that the all those golden memories were nothing more than dross, but the reality of the whistle lay before me. Compelled, I placed it to my lips and blew the simpliest of tunes, the best my memory could offer after so long. The notes were high and pure like liquid crystal, seeming to swell and fill the room. I could feel it rush out the door and window like water through a floodgate. Before the sound slipped away a whirlwind blew into the room, airy fingers caressed my cheek and sweet voices rode the wind singing a joyous homecomming. The blossoms I had been sweeping did another wild dance around the room, then followed the wind out the window and away. I stood there lost in my own thoughts for some time before finally wandering outside to sit dreaming under the willow.

From then on, every night after the house had quieted and all slept, I would sit on the veranda and play my whistle. I kept my secret to myself, it belonged to that inner most private part in my soul that none could breach. At night I sat out there with the stars or rain and listened to the news carried on the back of the wind from far off countries, often an exotic song would sing to me of wonders.

The more I played, the stronger the magic became. The smallest of breezes always accompanied me, awaking an affinity within my soul, letting me experience the world with a renewed sense of wonder. I learned the language of the wind, and had many whispered conversations. I could feel what the eagle felt as wind rushed over his pinions or cushioned his wings. I could smell the change in weather before any other signs became apparent or listen to the wind tossed trees and understand their song.

I used to play the children to sleep as they rocked on the porch or under the willow. Sometimes the wind played games with the babies, tossing leaves or flowers around as a juggler might. Or they might hear a soft sweet lullabye as the wind soothed their frets. Even so, as much as the children loved it, they all seemed to forget as they got older until a breeze was just a breeze.

The old woman looked over at the child curled around a favorite bear, a slight smile curved the child's lips. the woman nodded to herself as if confirming something she already suspected. "Yes, the others may have forgotten but not you, I think, or at least not entirely. I've seen the wind tousle your hair while not a blade of grass stirred, or when you unknowingly tilt your head as though listening to something you can't quite hear."

"Don't look so surprised, my dear. I can hear what you're listening for. Shh, don't say anything, just listen. What do you hear out there?" She waved vaguely at the window behind her, watching the little face intently.

"Windchimes" The child answered promptly, then hesitated. "But there is something else there. I can almost hear it Gramma."

"I know, thats why we're having this conversation. But like everything else, you have to learn to listen in order to learn, I did.

"But I thought the whistle would - "

"Child let me tell you something. As remarkable as the whistle is, it's still a tool. It's a gift and a thing of magic, but its not a genie in a bottle to grant your wishes. It is a potent piece of magic and can be as dangerous as it is beautiful id its is miss used. Don't treat it lightly, not now and not ever." She looked down at the bewildered expression of her grandchild and sighed. "I know you don;t understand, but you need to and not find out the hard way as I did" Do you remember when your uncle had to fix my roof after we had that terrible storm?"

"Yes, it was just after Grampa died, I think" The young voice was uncertain.

"Yes well. Time does march on and we get older, not always wiser." She paused "I've had a content life watching my family grow and prosper all the while learning life's lessons as they came along. But the last lesson was the hardest by far, in fact I don't think anything could have prepared me for the overwhelminf loss I felt when my husband died, even though he had been ill for a long time I wasn't ready to let him go."

"All our children and grandchildren were here for his last days, and so I was comforted and held back my pain each time I looked into his eyes. The night he died, the family had been downstairs while I sat at his bedside holding his hand. I gently stroked the hair that had been thinned by illness but was as white as my own, and stared at the many laugh lines etched into his face. Our love was as strong as it had always been, and memories crowded my thoughts of all our years together.

I remember the silent tears that fell hotly on our joined hands, and how he opened his eyes one last time and whispered his love for me before slipping away, going away where I could not follow. At that moment I knew the greatest pain of my life as my heart broke. I rose and flung open the window, unable to breath past the pain in my chest, the tiniest of breezes caressed my face. I looked out and saw the swing we had often shared, it hung there empty and silvered in the moonlight, and the sight cut me to the quick. A terrible pain griped me, so intense I thought my heart would give out allowing me to follow my husband after all.

As I held to the windowsill, I looded out onto a beautiful summer night, filled with a multitude of gleaming stars, just such a night we had so often shared together. I felt betrayed by that serene beauty, grief and rage rose and warred within me. I was so angry that such beauty should exist in the face of my loss, like the world itself mocked me. Half blinded by tears I stumbled out of the room and down the back stairs, escaping the house before I had to face the family.

I sought the old willow and sank to the ground hidden by the deep shadows at its base, the traitorous night closed from my sight by the heavy sweep of leaves that hung around me. I pulled the whistle from inside my dress where I had begun keeping it, seeking its cool comfort against the turmoil in my heart. My hands trembled and clenched, I was unsure if I could even play, but play I must otherwise I knew I would howl my grief to the world. There was a clear stillness to the night, a calm my grief and anger sought to shatter. I wanted the sky to open up and weep for love lost. I blew a long shrill note, the kind that makes dogs whimper and shiver, I called to the winds I knew so well. The shadows darkened as the night held its breath, and the normal nocturnal noises ceased. I began to play, I poured my heart and soul, every ounce of love for my husband and every shred of grief fueled anger into the song, I would not be denied.

The wind rose, parting the leaves and rushing over me in a chilling wave, it had an eagerness in knowing what I wanted. As the branches began to thrash I could see the moonlight had been hidden away by the gathering clouds. The wind flattened the grass and broke the flowerbeds, I could her my daughter slamming windows the howling wind sought to shatter. I knew I should seek the shelter of the house and comfort of my family, but instead I rose, planted my feet firmly and pointed the whistle at the sky/ The little whistle had taken on a glow from the power I poured through it, I called and the wind answered with a fierce shrieking joy. I was at last true wind-kin  as I rode the dizzying power of the element, and with a grief driven madness I brought a raging storm down to batter the land.

I could hear the creak and groan of trees caught in the crashing onslaught of the wind. With the first fat drops of rain I put the whistle away, listening and ready to begin again at the first sign of slack in the gathering fury. Tears mingled freely with the cold rain, a fitting tribute for my husband.

I stood with my back to the tree the wind had slammed me into, barely able to breath as the water sheeted over me and the long supple branches of the willow lashed. Somewhere in the darkness a tree snapped unable to bare the stress of the gale I had summoned. Deep in my soul I shivered at what I had unleashed as the wind keened and tore at the ground. Thunder deafened me as lightening slashed and forked into the nieghbouring tree, with a crash it fell into the branches that sheltered me. I never saw the limb that came down, pinning me to the tree and knocking me senseless.

Perhaps the only reason I survived that night was because I was under the massive willow and pinned upright, otherwise I think I would have surely drowned or been crushed by the huge chunk of roof that had been torn away. My son found me some hours later, semi-conscious, bruised and battered. I refused to speak as he ushered me into the warmyth of the house, his face creased with grief and worry.

Afterwards I worked long and hard helping to deal with the storm damage. Roads lay flooded and splintered trees drifted by, the wind had carried livestock far and wide, while shearing off poles and rooftops. I worked to redeem myself for what I had called down upon the countryside. I am eternally grateful that no lives were lost that night, but it will forgive mark my soul. In truth, I felt tainted by the gross mis-use of my precious whistle, and meant to cleanse my guilt one way or another by helping when and where I could.

It was well over a week before enough of the destruction was cleared to bury my husband. By that time I had started to come to terms with my own grief and could offer comfort to my worried and grieving children. I would never tell them the reason they had to rescue me or anything else about that dreadful night, and gradually it faded from conversations. Eventually the pall of grief lifted and we continued on with our lives, the family urged me to sell the house and move to the city. I refused, my place was here with all my memories, good and bad.

"So you see, my dear, why you should always be cautious when dealing with a magical gift, and especially when dealing with the caprious winds? Do you understand what I'm saying to you?" The old woman reached over to touch the child's knee.

"I think so Gramma." The child was quiet, staring at the curtains that lifted playfully in the breeze. "It must have been awful. Have you ... did you ever use the whistle again?"

The old woman smiled and shook her head. "No child, I have not. However, since that night I haven't needed to. The wind hears my call now without the whistle and if its music I want, I'll simply ask the west wind to sing me a tune. I don't need it, and its time to pass it on. You and I are wind-kin together, but the whistle is now your secret to keep or share as you like." She drew the silver chain over her head, letting the whistle twist idlely on its length. She stared at it lovingly as the birds on its surface seemed to flit their wings at her and the leaves rustled invitingly. With a smile she passed it to her grandchild.

As small fingers wrapped around its glowing length a wonderous smile spread across the child's face. "Oh thank you Gramma, I'll take very good care of it, but I think it should stay a secret" With a sigh the child lay back and slipped the whistle under the pillow, fist and all disappearing from sight.

"I know you'll take care of it. Now no more talking, its time for sleep. I think you will have an interesting day tomorrow. Shh, close your eyes, thats right. Rest well" The old woman leaned over the child with a loving kiss and whispered into the small shell-like ear ... "Wind to thy wings, little one"

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