The wind

From the wind’s perspective, everything moves backward. What theories has it landed on for the way its world works? Nothing is still but it, everything is temporary. Does it know that on some days it dies, that when everything is still, it stops existing? Or does it simply pick itself up somewhere else, passingly curious at the change of scenery that moves past too quickly to really note the difference? Everything, to the wind, is a blur. Nothing is permanent but itself, the sole ruler of its life. The world rushes backward over its hair. Does it find the rush refreshing?