Neville

One sunny day,
I was woken up by the little winds swinging on my yellow curtains as high and as faraway from my windows as possible.

The birds were also saying hello to somebody.
I don’t know their language.
I opened my eyes to welcome the winds.

Wake up, wake up, the winds are here.
My easily excitable curtains said to me.

The sky was blue, the clouds were white, and the sunshine, bright but pleasant.
The winds were on their way herding the clouds from south to north.
The little winds came to sit by the windows by my bed to look at my sleepy face, or to play with the yellow curtains, or to wake me up, or to do nothing at all.

That was when I first met Neville.
That sunny day.
Neville, a fair haired fair little boy waved to me from a cloud that he was on.

Obviously, at first, I had to wonder if he was a god but he said no.
Then I wondered if he was an angel but he said no to that too.
He said that he had asked to come along with the winds and that he was from a tiny place quite far away.
It was most acceptable because I thought he looked neither like a god nor an angel.

And the little winds tugged on my hair and the yellow curtains for a while.

I always wish for the winds to take me away too but they never seem to take the idea seriously. Sometimes they'll laugh a bit and wave a tree nearby saying "not today, not today".

Most of the time, I'm really just glad that they even bother to say hi.
So I think that Neville must be quite special, or at least more special than me.

And I also think I'm quite right.

There was really something about Neville that kept me from being envious of him.
I cannot place my finger on it, but there's really something about him that reminds me of... something strangely familiar...
He was quite tired or quite something else, I could not tell.

Anyway, he said that he had looked up to the winds and clouds all the time, from his window where he used to live, and that looking down from them was different.
Then he said, but then again, the letter "N" looks the same upside down or downside up.

"N is for Neville."
He said and I remember.

I never saw him again, but I think of him sometimes. I don't ask about him.
I like to watch the dust and things and the fallen leaves of the rain tree scurry across the ground when the winds come by.

If I see him again, that Neville boy, I'll offer him cherries if I happen to have any. If I don't, I'll tell him that I would offer him some had I had any. I wonder if they have red cherries in the tiny place he came from, but I just have a feeling that they don't have the black-skinned ones that will have red juice staining your mouth and teeth and tongue and everywhere in between.
I also have a feeling that he won't like cherries in the way I think he may like them.

This morning, the weather was fine too.
Then it rained quite hard in the afternoon.

(sneak.)