The year seems to have begun with gusts of winds – cloud banks of air rushing past us – as we ourselves bend and twist with every sudden rush of the sky’s breathing. In front of me, coming towards me, a father and his two very young children, holding his hands, singing, for all of us to hear: We are the wind, We are the wind, We are the wind. And suddenly, as if by impulse and inspiration, both children break away from their father – and running as fast as they can, sing their newly discovered one-word chant: Wind, Wind, Wind – as they, and their coveted word, seemingly disappear, all at once, into the invisible air.
I often think, when speaking and working with children in classrooms, what it means to a child to become a quality of the invisible, to become what we often can’t see outwardly, but with the eyes of our imagination we can bring to life. Perhaps play, so indigenous to childhood, is the art and act of living into and out of the invisible, making it alive so it can be felt and heard as a pulsating presence – as did Lizzette, in the 5th Grade, when she wrote:
The wind grew
colors and then
it vanished into
the eyes of the
or, embraced by the very ecstasy of playing, Johanny, in the 3rd Grade, shared:
When I am playing I feel like hugging the wind
and kissing and singing with the air, pushing the
air far away. I am very, very happy.