The wind howled louder than I’d ever heard it before. The trees bent and groaned as if the sky itself were trying to pull them up by the roots. I crouched low beneath the curved rock ledge, my cloak flapping behind me like a frightened bird.
My name is Jin, and I was once a boy who wanted to be strong. I believed strength meant pushing harder, yelling louder, and never giving up—even when I should. But all that changed because of a feather. Yes, a simple feather.
It happened on a day I thought would be like any other. I had gone up the mountain to gather herbs for my grandmother. Storm clouds gathered above, and the wind began to stir just as I reached the cliffs. I should have turned back—but I didn’t. I wanted to prove I was brave enough. That was my mistake.
That’s when I saw it—a single white feather floating in the air, drifting like it had no place to be. Instead of flying away, it danced through the storm, not fighting, not falling. Just moving with the wind.
“How can it do that?” I whispered.
I followed it, forgetting the storm, the herbs, everything.
The feather dipped and rose, swirling freely. I chased it past a grove of pine trees and into a clearing where an old man sat quietly by a pond. His eyes were closed, his back straight, as if the storm didn’t exist.
“You should be inside!” I shouted over the wind.
He looked up slowly and smiled. “And yet, here I am. And so are you.”
“But the storm—aren’t you afraid?”
He shook his head. “The wind is only loud when your heart is louder. Sit with me.”
I wanted to run, to find shelter. But something in his voice was calm—so calm that I listened.
We sat together. Slowly, I noticed the wind wasn’t so wild anymore, not here. Somehow, sitting still felt like the safest thing.
I took a breath. And as I did, I saw the feather again—still floating. It curved down gently, landing on my knee.
“Why does it float like that?” I asked.
The old man looked at the feather, then at me. “It does not fight the wind. It becomes part of it.”
I watched the feather. It never tried to be heavy or strong. It just let go.
In the days that followed, I thought about what the old man said. Maybe strength wasn't about being hard and unmoving. Maybe true strength came from understanding when to yield—to be like the feather in the storm.
Now when I feel angry or stuck, I take a deep breath. I remember the floating feather. I remember that sometimes, the way forward is not to push—but to let go, and let things be.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, when storms stir inside me, I sit quietly and listen. And often, like the feather, I find I’m not being blown away—I’m learning how to fly.
The wind howled louder than I’d ever heard it before. The trees bent and groaned as if the sky itself were trying to pull them up by the roots. I crouched low beneath the curved rock ledge, my cloak flapping behind me like a frightened bird.
My name is Jin, and I was once a boy who wanted to be strong. I believed strength meant pushing harder, yelling louder, and never giving up—even when I should. But all that changed because of a feather. Yes, a simple feather.
It happened on a day I thought would be like any other. I had gone up the mountain to gather herbs for my grandmother. Storm clouds gathered above, and the wind began to stir just as I reached the cliffs. I should have turned back—but I didn’t. I wanted to prove I was brave enough. That was my mistake.
That’s when I saw it—a single white feather floating in the air, drifting like it had no place to be. Instead of flying away, it danced through the storm, not fighting, not falling. Just moving with the wind.
“How can it do that?” I whispered.
I followed it, forgetting the storm, the herbs, everything.
The feather dipped and rose, swirling freely. I chased it past a grove of pine trees and into a clearing where an old man sat quietly by a pond. His eyes were closed, his back straight, as if the storm didn’t exist.
“You should be inside!” I shouted over the wind.
He looked up slowly and smiled. “And yet, here I am. And so are you.”
“But the storm—aren’t you afraid?”
He shook his head. “The wind is only loud when your heart is louder. Sit with me.”
I wanted to run, to find shelter. But something in his voice was calm—so calm that I listened.
We sat together. Slowly, I noticed the wind wasn’t so wild anymore, not here. Somehow, sitting still felt like the safest thing.
I took a breath. And as I did, I saw the feather again—still floating. It curved down gently, landing on my knee.
“Why does it float like that?” I asked.
The old man looked at the feather, then at me. “It does not fight the wind. It becomes part of it.”
I watched the feather. It never tried to be heavy or strong. It just let go.
In the days that followed, I thought about what the old man said. Maybe strength wasn't about being hard and unmoving. Maybe true strength came from understanding when to yield—to be like the feather in the storm.
Now when I feel angry or stuck, I take a deep breath. I remember the floating feather. I remember that sometimes, the way forward is not to push—but to let go, and let things be.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, when storms stir inside me, I sit quietly and listen. And often, like the feather, I find I’m not being blown away—I’m learning how to fly.
