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This is the kind of story your evenings could end with. Press play, or read the full text — no account needed.

A Taoist parable, retold

The Boy Who Caught the Wind

Ages 4–9 · about 12 minutes

On the side of a green hill, in a house with a blue door, there lived a boy named Wen who loved the wind more than anything in the world.

He loved it when it ran its fingers through the long grass, so the whole hillside shivered like the back of a cat. He loved it when it carried the smell of rain, and when it spun the seeds of the dandelions up and up until they were too small to see. He loved the way it tugged at his shirt, as if it wanted him to come and play.

But the wind never stayed. It came, and it leaned against him, and then it was gone again over the hill, and Wen would be left standing in the still, quiet air, wishing it back.

One evening, watching the grass grow flat and then stand up again, Wen had an idea. If he loved the wind so much, why should he not keep it? Why should he not have it always, the way he had his shoes and his bowl and his bed?

So he went to find a jar.

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