The Windmill

Wind and Time share family traits, but Wind wandered the land as it pleased, shooing chickens and lifting the skirts of maidens, to their beautiful embarrassment. 

While Time stayed at home, toiling in the family business, ever responsible, ever loyal.  So much so that the Father began to disregard him as just another tool of the trade, invisible, automatic.

Time longed to be free as the Wind but found he had created his own rut and was unable to climb his way out.

The family business ran sour and a change was made to remain industrious.  A windmill was erected and Wind harnessed to it.

In an ironic turn, The Father sat back upon his bench, drink in hand, and idled as Wind worked invisibly, routinely, automatically, imprisoned.

And the Father suddenly realized, after a sip of wine, what a fine Time it was.

How nice to have this Time.