Shorts: A Collection

5. Air of Change (One-shot)

AUTUMN is my favourite season. Well, in a way it's summer because I get a bit of a holiday but I find autumn the most fun.

The leaves start turning shimmering hues of brown, gold, yellow and red and as I dance and ripple between them I see music and art and poetry, each new direction a delicious trill and picture.

I am Air, I am Wind, I am the Breeze.

Although I'm omnipresent across the Earth I don't need to concentrate on every molecule. I need to concentrate on the sweeping weather fronts which link from one continent to another or there would be such chaos. I need to balance myself and give change to help the Seasons.

I'll admit that I find the extreme weather the hardest part. I hate the destruction and devastation caused by tornadoes and hurricanes but even I am subject to Water, Seasons and Earth. If the Earth needs to move, Water may create a tsunami and I am obliged to follow. I'm not overly fond of Water, in all honestly, as he is the most destructive and wicked. He seems to enjoy the flooding but when he does and we really disagree, I bring the thunder and he doesn't care for that. Usually that is the apex of our fight.

Spring is about new life and she is beautiful but fragile. I like working with Spring. Summer is a joy but I don't work with her as much. Winter is bitter and severe and I always have a twinge of guilt as I bring his sharp gusts to cut into fingertips and noses.

But this is why I am friends with Autumn. She is busy and beautiful but determined in her change. She makes me crisp, fresh and sweeping.

Today I was gusting through the English countryside- one of my absolute favourites- making sure Autumn could be felt in every region. I swooped down a busy terraced street and happened to lift the fine, blonde hair of a small baby. Usually babies cry when I catch them but this baby giggled and waved her arms and legs excitedly.

I paused slightly. Then I did it again and surely enough the little girl waved her chubby limbs and grinned with a two-teethed smile. She liked me.

"Is it windy today?" The mother asked her. The baby looked up at the mother and grinned. "The wind is going whooosh in your face, isn't it?"

I obliged again and the baby rewarded me with another chuckling laugh. I swooped through the trees feeling cheery and playful.

"Look at the trees!" The mother said. "They're going wsshhwsshhwsshh." She waved her arms side to side like the branches in the tree. The baby grinned and did her best imitation, which was basically flailing her arm, but this was her version.

I felt a swell of pride so I whipped up a small pile of rustling leaves nearby. The family watched with interest then went into their home.

And so I returned the next day. Around mid-afternoon the mother stood the baby up on the ledge of the bay window and pointed outside to the trees. I danced through them obligingly and I could see the mother waving her hands accordingly. And a few seconds later the baby copied her, grinning her gummy and toothy grin. They watched for another 5 minutes before the baby started to get restless.

The following week they went for a walk to the park and I fear I was squalling too strongly. The baby laughed on the swings but became upset and cold as I raged on. I tried to ease up but Autumn needed me to clear some leaves so I had to gain more force.

By way of an apology I shifted my direction so it was blowing into the back of the pushchair rather than in her face. She was very curious about the rustling bushes and howling sounds.

I had a busy few weeks following that so I didn't get to check in with the little family but I managed a few weeks later. Again the baby was stood in the bay window, licking the glass and banging her chubby fists at the outside world. I gave the bushes in their front garden a good whirl and she was distracted and fascinated. I swirled around looking at the baby fondly when I actually looked at the mother.

She had a strange, faraway look in her eyes. She was staring at the fields and trees in the distance which Autumn had paid particular attention to. The leaves were a vivid yellow and the sun made golden leaves sparkle and glow. Some of the other trees were red and brown and they swayed gently in my wake.

She smiled a tiny, imperceptible smile and I knew I'd seen her before. She was the little, freckled five-year old girl who was late for school because she had to kick through every pile of leaves on the way. She was the eight-year old who jumped through the air in the school playground to catch the vortex of falling leaves. She was the sixteen-year old who smiled on her way to the bus stop because the air was crisp and invigorating and it wasn't quite coat weather but she could wear a scarf. She was the twenty eight-year old who only last year was heavily pregnant and who took a walk up the street, pausing to listen to the rustle of leaves which almost sound like crashing waves.

The mother loved Autumn and, by default, loved me as well. And now her daughter loves us too. I whisper through the gaps in the windows, "Thank you," even though it only sounds like another whooshing howl.

I can return next year and enjoy seeing the change in this family. They will not appreciate me in a month, when Winter takes his place and hands me icy cold temperatures and snow flurries to play with. In Spring they can feel my fragility as I have to handle her delicately. Summer will make them forget about me altogether, apart from when people are complaining there's no Breeze and the Air is stifling. I can only work with what Summer gives me and she is a feckless Season, so tranistory and often late.

Yes, I shall return soon enough, as I have done for millenia, and I can infuse my own delights into Autumn's presence. Wait for me expectantly, dear baby, and I shall not disappoint. You shall feel my hand soon enough.