The Whispering Wind

Every year, after a generous rainfall, a field about ten miles from our home comes to life with wildflowers. It bursts into a brilliant display of red, yellow, purple, and blue blossoms a mile wide.

The field has drawn crowds ever since word got out about its supposed healing properties.

Some who walked through the field claimed to recover from serious, sometimes fatal, illnesses. They believe there is a supernatural force at work there. I don’t subscribe to such nonsense. There must be a reasonable, scientific explanation.

I approached a friend of mine who writes for the town’s paper. I wrote a story that I hoped might attract attention to the claims being made about the field. I invited doctors and scientists to gather data hoping to put this nonsense to bed.

The story went viral. People from all over the state came hoping to absorb some of the magic. The doctors and scientists came too, but found nothing conclusive or special to report.

I tracked down a man by the name of Edward Sullivan.

He claimed that severe migraines had plagued him until he buried his pain in the field, guided by the “whispering wind.”

This guy must be off his rocker, I thought.

Edward pointed out where he claimed to have “buried” his pain. I shook his hand, and he walked off.

I revisited the field with my wife a couple of weeks later, choosing the same spot for a small picnic.

As I bit into my sandwich, my eyes caught a glimmer of the hole Edward had dug. In it was a locket worn by time and the elements. Inside were two faces that bore a resemblance to Edward.

I spoke to Edward again, and he revealed the locket’s history. It was his mother’s, salvaged from the ashes of their old home. He had buried it, he said, hoping to bury the guilt of a night he wasn’t there when the night fire took his family away from him.

The wind danced in the field as Edward spoke. The gentle breeze, he said, felt like a whisper encouraging him to let go. The earth-covered locket was his response to that soft plea.