They told us the winds were dying. We sat on rooftops and watched the cloud rush. I tried to catch gusts in my hands. She said she wanted to make an atlas of the winds before they were gone. She showed me maps of their paths in the city skies. She smelled of ink.
I learned the names of the different winds. I wrote them on her maps. We followed their shapes through forest shadows and sea bright. We raced the skies. She said that after she’d gone, people would read her atlas. When she drew the maps, I listened to wind roar. It sounded like words I didn’t know. I tried to remember the sounds so I could make them for her when they weren’t there.
One day, the winds wrapped round us. I tried to keep hold of her hand but they pulled her away. I looked for her in gales and whispered her name. I couldn’t find her. When the winds had all disappeared, I went home.
The skies became still so long ago now. I have the atlas. I read it. I wonder if she is where the winds have gone.