Lonely ferns and wind

I ask people for prompts and write them stories. This one: a lonely fern tickled by the wind

A long time ago there existed a lonesome fern. She was alone because when she had been a spore she had been carried by the wind into a pleasant shady nook that was perched on the face of a limestone cliff.

She remembered the journey, - how a gentle gust of wind had carried her spore from her progenitor in a beautiful airy dance to the edge of the cliff, off of it, and down to where she then rested and grew. She would always remember those moments, they engendered in her a love of the wind.


This love was very special to her, because being carried down to where she was had parted her from the rest of her people. She felt so alone at times she wished she didn't have roots and could be carried off of the cliff once again to fall below. The fall would be another true dance with the wind.

The wind being her only companion she listened to it constantly, and even learned her name from its whispers as it came off the sea and sussured through the trees beneath her. The wind often said 'elissshia' and she liked that sound the leaves and the wind made for her.

When the breezes were gentle they tickled her. When the winds raged they filled her with something like a passionate sympathy. She was always happy that someone spoke to her.

She felt as though the wind from the sea were courting her. She did fancy it. The way it traveled, always moving, at once an immense community of somethingness that was simultaneously somehow individual. Exploring, and behaving differently every time it came. It was everywhere with everything while also being somewhere with some things, like her.

She often wished that she had wind, like the sea. So she could speak back to it some poetry she had heard some animals say, who also had wind. The phrases felt perfect.

The wind would say, "I carry your heart with me." And she would reply, " I carry you in my heart."