A wind blew in from the east.
The air from the west believed it smelled funny, so it refused to talk to the wind.
The wind would try to strike up a conversation about sports or favorite animals or who visited the most exotic places. The westerly air would not respond.
The wind from the east got an idea.
“Everyone likes music,” the wind thought. “I will make some music for the air.”
The wind blew through the branches of the trees to create a soft rhythm. The wind whistled over the rocks in a nearby stream. The wind fluttered through the tall reeds of grass in a nearby meadow. The wind blasted through a small canyon tucked away near the hills. The wind ruffled through the feather of dozens and dozens of birds of all sizes compelling them to add to his music with their own distinct noises. The wind rushed up into the sky and back down to the ground at terrible speeds, creating a cacophonic symphony of atmospheric sound.
The effort exhausted the wind which sooner turned into nothing more than a light breeze.
The air continued to ignore the wind.
And then, the wind did not exist at all.