Far away.

Just a little more. You’ve got this.

Right there.

Yes.

That’s where - Shafter stood, staring at a clump of soil.

 

He was very irritated that day,

because when he wiped his buttom,

the toilet paper tore,

and he’d just run out of soap.

 

Oh, and someone gave him a weird look on the street.

(He didn’t know it was because he had really nice hair.

He preferred assuming a rogue piece of toilet paper escaped his pants.)

 

A gust of wind tried to gently caress Shafter's face,

but he got so upset that there was wind at all,

he started shouting at it -

and a bunch of sand got into his mouth,

from the clump of soil he’d been staring at.

 

"Stupid dirt clump!

I hate you! HATE HATE HATE YOU!"

 

The wind went on doing its thing,

and the soil slowly formed into a small mound.

 

"Stupid hill! Wind-sick freak!

I hate you!

Hate hate hate you!"

 

It wasn’t that the wind did anything on purpose.

It’s just that Shafter had decided to barricade himself up in the mountains -

where wind does what wind tends to do.

 

And so it kept going.

 

From a small mound to a teeny-tiny one,

from there to a pile of dust,

and from that to a quantity of sand the size of a lentil.

 

"Stupid sand-lentil! I hate you!

Hate hate hate you!"

 

And with a promising gust,

the wind carried away Shafter's last excuse

not to look into himself with understanding.

 

"I hate the wind!

I hate the dirt!

I hate everything!

I’ll show them!

I’ll show them!"

 

Surely there’d be people who’d praise brave, brave Shafter.

Who’d applaud his courage and resolve

to stand up against wind and soil.

 

That’s exactly what Shafter was thinking too.

Why be angry alone?

 

Shafter set out on a journey across lands

(yes, lands are made of soil.)

to recruit soldiers for a final war against earth and wind.

 

He came up with a flag, and uniforms,

found tailors and seamstresses and fabric and wet wipes

(he learned something from the bathroom incident),

and soldiers - both men and women (he’s progressive like that) -

and now Shefter wasn’t alone.

 

Hundreds united, all feeling a shared strength

and ready for war against earth and wind.

 

Even scientists were recruited,

and there were salaries to pay them now,

since an entire factory had been built, steady and proud,

and the flag flapped nobly in the breeze

(yes, the wind helped, but don’t tell him that)

giving everyone the feeling that anything was possible.

 

Thinkers and drivers, poets and children -

everyone, everyone was part of the war.

 

"When did it happen?" you may ask.

Hold on. Let them enjoy it for a moment.

 

That’s what they were there for.

 

A plan of action was ready.

The scientists had developed a marvelous wind-vacuuming device

capable of trapping gusts indefinitely -

as long as no one looked at it too long

and got impatient.

 

The soldiers learned how to operate the device.

They took their positions,

dressed in glorious uniforms dyed in the color of "faded field brown"

(a combination of dirt and wind that had erased them,

in case you were wondering).

 

Everyone was so very ready.

 

Shafter had drafted a detailed plan -

how to move from clump to clump, from place to place,

until every puff of air

and every speck of soil that could ever humiliate him again

would be eradicated.

 

"But wait - all these people?

Do they all really hate stinky sand-lentils?

Do they all hate wind that piles up sand into little mounds?"

 

This thought popped into Shafter's mind.

​

He rushed to find out

how it could be that everyone was on board

with the exact same idea as his.

 

"Tell me," he asked one of the soldiers,

"Why are you here?"

 

"Because I want to feel like I matter."

 

"And you," he asked one of the scientists,

"Why are you here?"

 

"I want to be appreciated."

 

"And you?" he turned to the little boy

who was popping a snot bubble on his father.

 

"Because someone needs to protect my dad."

 

"What?!"

No one is here because wind and soil actually pissed them off?!

But really?!

 

The wind returned for a short visit,

blowing a bit of sand right next to Shafter's foot.

 

"It’s the same!" he shouted.

"It’s exactly the same!"

 

"What is?"asked one of the soldiers, worried.

 

"You, me - we’re like the sand!

Like that little mound that made me so mad.

 

We all came here as if we’re fighting the same thing,

and we were willing to go to war against wind and dirt -

each for their own reason.

 

It only looks like we’re doing the same thing.

But what unites us?

 

It’s like the sand! Like the hill!

It wasn’t even a hill.

 

I called it a hill -

because that’s how I saw it.

 

I was scared of what I saw within myself through it -

and thought I hated the hill.

 

I thought there was something out there I could fight.

But even when it disappeared -

it stayed the reason for my rage.

 

So… what was my rage trying to hide?"

 

And so,

the soldiers,

and the scientists,

the tailors,

 and the thinkers,

the drivers,

and the children -

all went back

to simply

being life.