Wind Chimes:A Small Tale

It's called the music house. Wind chimes hang all around the front of the porch. And more hang in the back.

Dozens of them in metal, wood, and one rumored to be glass. They twinkle and jingle quite merrily when the wind comes to play.

Some days it's a soft lullaby. Others it's a jangling chorus. But even on the stillest of days, one is always making a sound.

One in particular stays eerily quiet. The one that looks of glass. A friend once asked me why it never chimed like the others. I simply smiled and replied that the right wind hadn't come around yet.

Herding: A Small Tale

I  like to go hiking into the mountains to get away from the city for a time. I encounter many unusual things when I'm there. Things that city logic tell me shouldn't be. Some of it I tell my friends, but mostly I keep these events to myself.

They look like sheep from far off. Small fluffy objects being herded this way and that by a shepherd with a stick. I don't see a sheepdog helping or here the sound of bleating. It isn't until you get closer that you realize those are not sheep.

It seems impossible to believe, but there they are. Small clouds are being herded about the grassland. They prefer the high altitudes where the air is thin. The lower elevation is too heavy for the fragile baby nimbus.

They're not sheared, not precisely. The wisps are gently gathered and spun into fabric so fine and light that they'll float away if not weighed down.