I am the Ghost of Wind.
I disturb the universe. I swirl around and through people's lives. Some claim to be startled by me, but in truth, they always know I'm coming. I'm always a direct result of earlier actions; you can't create wind out of nothing.
On occasion, I find my origins in the wispy, scratchy acres of a farmer's fields. Then I build up momentum traveling down roads and through marketplaces and open-air cafes before I trundle through a backyard barbecue, teasing the air from guests' noses. They always scatter at my presence, either silently and surreptitiously or with a groan and laughter. Some say that I stink, but I don't always. And people have developed the most fascinating way to describe my entrance: they call it "breaking wind." But the term that Mother Nature uses is flatulation.
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