The wind.
The cool, clean breeze.
The hard, freezing cold blast.
The wind that blows the icy rain into my face.
The wind that brings storms.
The wind that is warm.
Gentle.
Peaceful.
Raging.
Strong.
Clean.
Warm.
Cool.
Bitterly cold.
Boiling hot.
The wind that whispers of peace.
The wind that whispers of war.
The wind that goes away.
The wind that carries secrets.
What are those secrets?
The wind that goes away is running away from all the bad things.
The gentle, peaceful, warm, and cool whisper of peace.
The strong, raging, bitterly cold, and boiling hot speak of storms, death, and impossible, horrible things.
This.
Is the wind.