The day you put it on the roof, you never worried about power outages again, and you felt at ease forgetting about them.

The day you put it on the roof, you never worried about power outages again, and you felt at ease forgetting about them.

The day you put it on the roof, you climbed the ladder, tightened the last screw, and clapped your hands as you came down. Watching it stand on the roof, its blades slowly turning, you felt a strange, indescribable feeling. Not excitement, not pride, just a sense that some things would be different from today.

Life went on as usual. You went to the fields, you did your work, and when you got busy, you forgot about the windmill. Sometimes the wind blew, and you didn't look up; sometimes the sun shone, and you didn't pay much attention. It was just there, turning on its own, basking in the sun, silent and unassuming, neither boasting nor complaining.

Until one night, the village lost power again. The neighbor's house was dark, candles lit, shadows flickering. You went home, flipped the switch, and the lights came on. Only then did you remember, oh, there's still a windmill on the roof. You had long forgotten about it, but it hadn't forgotten you. It's always there, turning, storing electricity for you, ready for your use whenever you need it.

From then on, you never worried about power outages again. It wasn't that the power kept running, it was that you stopped caring. Even if it went out, you weren't afraid, because it was there; even in the dark, you weren't panicked, the lights would come back on. Sometimes people would ask, "Why doesn't your power stay on?" You'd smile and say you didn't know. Actually, you knew, it was that windmill on the roof that was holding it up for you.

The day you put it on the roof, you never worried about power outages again, you forgot about them and felt at ease. From that day forward, power outages were someone else's problem; you just lived your life.