Once, in the high valleys of Mexico, drought gripped the land. Flowers wilted, rivers thinned to trickles, and the great wind blew harshly across the hills. The people and animals despaired.
A tiny hummingbird, no bigger than a thumb, looked around at the withered petals and sagging leaves. “Why has the wind grown so cruel?” she asked.
The old owl replied, “The Wind is lonely. The people have forgotten its songs. They shut their windows and built high walls. So now it howls.”
The hummingbird, though small, was brave. “Then I will speak to it.”
“Don’t be foolish,” said the hawk. “You are too small.”
But the hummingbird flew. She passed cracked hills and dry wells, finally reaching the Wind’s cave high in the mountains.
“Why do you blow so fiercely?” she asked.
The Wind sighed. “Once, people danced with me. Now they hide. I knock to be noticed, but they slam their shutters.”
The hummingbird hovered close. “You do not need to howl to be heard. Come gently, carry the pollen, whisper in the grass.”
The Wind was moved. “You are small, but your voice is strong.”
That day, the Wind softened. Clouds returned. Rain fell. Flowers bloomed, and the land came alive again.
The people said, “The Wind has changed.” But the owl knew why. “Because the smallest heart flew higher than the tallest tree.”
Moral: Even the smallest voice can calm the strongest storm.
