What if Sadness was the wind?

What if sadness was the wind blowing down an empty street; pushing fallen leaves down the sidewalk, twirling them in the air, lifting them up a stoop then quickly dropping them down again?

What if sadness was the wind rushing across a meadow to the bank of a small pond; pushing, pulling and bending the reeds at the waters edge?

What if sadness was a cold crisp wind whipping over a choppy sea; following the waves as they swell then crash against the rocky shore?

What if sadness was the wind pushing through the woods, then finding an open campfire? What if the wind grew the flames, sending them leaping into the air and out toward the campers gathered around the circle.

What if sadness was the wind that had quieted into a breeze? What if the breeze came upon a bridge that crossed over a small stream?

What if the sadness crossed over the bridge and found a nice sunny spot.
Sadness would be a memory that gently touched down in the soft grass.
Quietly gliding through the trees.