Once in a garden there grew a rose. A wind fell in love with her. They were completely different, he - light and fair; she - immobile and heavy as blood.
There came a man in wooden clogs and with his thick hands he plucked the rose. The wind leapt after him, but the man slammed the door in his face.
- O that I might turn to stone - wept the unlucky one - I was able to go round the whole world, I was able to stay away for years at a time, but I knew she was always there waiting.
The wind understood that, in order to really suffer, one has to be faithful.
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