I’ve been told that life is fleeting. Life is short. It is a truth that can be dreadful and comforting at the same time. Dreadful for those who want to live forever, to conquer nations, people and time, but comforting for those who await eagerly and with undying fervor the afterlife. But no matter which emotion we feel or however we view life’s shortness, it will always remain to be transitory, like wind passing through a prairie, making the sunflowers dance and the trees prance their greeneries.

For what use would the wind be if it were to just pass vacantly? What use does it have if not to sway the tall grasses or cool the farmer’s sun-burnt nape? What role would it have if not to make children’s kites soar or push a sailboat closer to home? And what mark would it leave—something that would prove it once existed—if it doesn’t touch anything?

We must realize the value of our lives and the amount of goodness and love we can share to everyone we pass by. We have to make it count, our passing. After all, aren’t our lives just like a prairie wind?