In the grand machinery of nature, the wind serves as an errand boy. He rushes from one corner of the world to the other, delivering gossip and secrets. Today, his task is to relay a joke. It’s brought all the way from the Round Table of the Oak Tree Council:
"Why did the cloud sit on the wind?"
"To take a flight without booking an aisle."
The wind chuckled, a mechanical chuckle without a heart. Bits of leaves rustled in agreement, or perhaps in confusion — details, after all, are mere cogs in the wheel of destiny. And so, here we stand, slightly bemused and a tad pensive, pondering the next gust that may carry a riddle or perhaps a misplaced letter.