HOW MAPLE CAME TO BE
Winds of the story chronicles
Promise of a story in the wind called the seed. The prospect of having a tale of its own was too much to resist, impossible to deny. The story swirled and twirled around the seed, vying for its attention. It whispered secrets, sang praises and seduced the seed with a promise of adventure.
This story would lead the seed to distant lands, give it more than it ever imagined. A life like no other, a soul strong enough to stand any storm and a companion. The seed listened to it all, absorbed it down to its core, and took flight.
The wind cradled the fragile seed and the budding story, moving them along. Together they flew over a sea and its storms, gathering strength from every toss and turn. Every lash of the warm rain gave them life.
The wind took them over a land, so old and filled with music down to its core. It was a land the wind had helped to grow, land shaped by time and filled with understanding that comes with age. The story soaked it all in and the seed listened.
Over yet another sea, they flew. This one was cold and calm, disguising its power beneath. Here the air told stories of patience, of moments frozen in time. And of loss, of things not meant to be found. The seed took it all in, somehow sensing things to come.
And so they kept going, the story and the seed flying with the wind. They twined together and formed a bond, solid enough to stand the test of time. In the care of the wind, they grew secure in each other, no longer a fledgling seed and possibility of a story, but an entity of its own.
Maple.
The name hummed in the air, first faint as a whisper but soon gaining strength. Maple. The name changed from wind to wind, looking for a place to start. A place to set down roots. They traveled over sea and land. Over lush planes, deepest jungles, rockiest mountains. Always looking, always searching.
Yet none of those places called them. They weren’t meant for Maple’s story. Weren’t home.
The wind patiently carried them, until after a long time, Maple felt a tug. It was small, barely noticeable, a frosty drift midst of stronger currents. If Maple hadn’t spent all that time with the winds, they might have missed it, ignored the call. But they had, and the winds had taught them well, nurtured the seed and the story, and now they were ready. Ready to grow.
Maple followed the drift and as the air grew colder, the drift turned stronger, and stronger, and stronger. The storm that carried Maple over the frozen sea and cleared away the layer of ice and snow from the land was unlike any seen before or ever since.
And there, at the edge of the glacier, on the deep-frozen ground, Maple found home. The years spent gathering strength gave the seed fortitude, and the years spent soaking up life gave the story the will to push through. And the bond those two had gave a soul to the roots that wormed into the ground.
When the storm cleared, in the barren land stood a small sprout, fearless and proud. In a place long forgotten by all, Maple patiently waited. They grew roots far and wide, listened to winds.
The small sprout turned to sapling, then a tree. And still they waited for that one piece, that missing part. The tree grew. It stood the test of time, held firm against any storm, until one day the wind carried a new story on its back. A promise to be fulfilled.
He was coming, the wind whispered. The finder of forgotten places. He was coming. And so Maple shed a leaf to the wind. A guide to lead him home. He was coming.