Birth tales · No.58
The day the wind blew
On the day No.58 fell, the wind blew and blew. Somebody outside the sketchbook must have left a window open.
The ink drop could not fall straight. It swerved this way and that, and rolled around the paper for a long while. Everywhere it went, it left a thin wobbly line behind.
When the drop finally stopped and opened its eyes, it was surrounded by curly scribbles. The scribbles are still there, all over the yellow yard where No.58 lives.
The first thing No.58 said was “Oh.” And ever since, whatever No.58 sees, it says “Oh.” The village is just too wonderful for No.58 to close its mouth.
The wind left only a few baby wisps of hair. But No.58 likes them that way. When the wind picks up, those wisps are the first to know.
The cheeks are always pink from all that rolling around on the windy day. They say some of that wind is still in there.
On windy days, No.58 runs out into the yard and dashes between the scribble lines. And says it again. “Oh.”