Elowen and the Song of the Meadows

More about Elowen and the Song of the Meadows

On the edge of the mountains, where the sun bathed the hills in honey colors and the winds smelled of summer, lived Elowen. She was a creature between dream and day—with large, listening ears that heard even the faintest whisper of a blossom, and eyes that reflected the colors of the sky. Elowen loved the meadows. There, she felt the world breathing, silent and infinitely patient. Every morning, when the dew still lay on the blossoms, she sat in the middle, took off her shoes, and listened. For the meadows sang. Not in words, but in a hum of wind, wingbeats, and rustling. One day, as the sun rose higher than usual and the sky was almost white with radiance, Elowen sensed that something was missing. The meadow choir, which usually sounded in gentle harmony, had fallen silent. No bird sang, no bee buzzed. Only the gentle trembling of the leaves remained. Elowen placed her hand on the Grass. It felt sad, as if the earth itself had stopped. She knew something had happened—and that she was the only one who could find the song again. She stood up, smoothed her blue dress, and set off. Two small birds who often visited her perched on her shoulders and chirped softly. "We'll come with you," they said. Together they wandered through the field, past poppies and daisies, until they came to a place where the flowers had wilted. There, two butterflies fluttered helplessly in the wind, their wings dull, as if they had lost their light. Elowen knelt down. "What has happened?" she whispered. The butterflies said the wind had lost its heart. Without it, no song could move the meadows. Elowen thought for a moment. "If the wind has lost its heart, it must have gone somewhere where silence dwells." She looked toward the mountains. There, the mist lay like a sleep over the valleys—a place of silence. So she set out. It was a long climb, and even the birds sometimes had to rest. But Elowen carried the sound of hope within her, and that was lighter than any baggage. At the top, in a hollow between the rocks, she finally found a flower, all alone. Its petals were transparent, as if made of air. And in its center, barely visible, hovered a tiny, shining spark. Elowen knelt down, placed her hand over it, and a gentle breeze flowed towards her—the lost heartbeat of the wind. She smiled. "Come home," she said. The spark detached itself from the flower, glided through the air, and disappeared into the sky. At that same moment, the air began to live. A warm wind arose, rustling through the trees, making the grasses dance, and the birds on Elowen's shoulders sang again. Butterflies took flight, and the song of the meadows returned—stronger than before, filled with gratitude.