me. Listen friend I want to tell you a story about the wind.

I was standing on the stairs of New York Public Library.

It was in October. I felt the words all around me. I felt all

the languages all around me. I felt the wind. I remember

my loneliness there, on those stairs, I thought about Adam.

Man in the garden. Man alone. Man from the dust. I felt his

presence on those stairs—surrounded with all the languages.

I remember the color of that wind— pink. I remember the smell

of it— rose. The wind was blowing on my face and I asked:

“When the Creator created Adam, was he a baby or a man?”

and felt the taste of the wind— cherry. “He was in between

of the beginning of time and its end,” said the wind. “What

language would Adam and Creator have used or spoken?”

I asked and the wind said: “The language of trust and music.”

“What was the first word of Adam?” I asked the wind. “His

first word was his very first breath, with your first breath

you can create the creature too and fill that creature with

unbounded light,” and the wind vanished. I felt that touch

of that wind— the ray with the dust from the garden.

When I woke up today, I smiled. I was singing too, and

then my wife turned on the radio. They say: “The war is

over in Syria. All the children are alive. The war is over.”