Blades of Light
~ a short story ~
It wasn't doing anything--just standing there. The word that came to mind was "majestic," as it rose to the heights, tall and strong. It wasn't moving--could that be when it was most content? If it didn't have to do anything, that seemed so plain and dull. I had to wait awhile to see when it really shone, as I sat on that bench.
It was worth the wait.
It came all at once, that steady stream of wind, pushing the blades in a fury. It took that push for the blades to prove their strength. Against that resistance, they had the power to do anything. Not only did this allow the blades to prove what they could do, but showed the true beauty of the windmill itself.
The spinning of the blades shared its own dazzling colors and hidden strength, but the real secret I only saw when the wind struck it just right and the clouds were clear. The sun's rays danced on the blades and reflected the light back to me.
The light fell in my lap.
That--that was the real beauty of the windmill, those blades of light. Even when the clouds and rain hid that secret from me, the windmill knew--and gloried in its marvelous splendor.
(originally written 10 - 10 - 21, copyrighted by Therese J. Roberts)