When the Wind Remembered Her Name

Outside the DOM in Cologne, the day was restless — a rhythm of light and sound and movement. She stood at its center, not posing, not hiding, simply existing as the wind wrote across her face. For a breath, the city faded — footsteps softened, voices dimmed — and the air carried a story that felt older than words.

 

There was grace in the disarray: hair tangled with the current, eyes half-closed as if listening to something distant. I thought of how easily we forget what once knew us — the places, the prayers, the quiet hopes we left behind. Yet here, the wind seemed to remember, tracing the contours of presence and letting them go again.

 

Done