Zephyrus was the god of the west wind, the god of springtime, a representation of fresh starts and growth. A beacon of hope and new life. For whatever reason, I carried that moment with me. As a scared child, locked in that closet, I’d feel him with me every time a gust of wind shimmied beneath the door, a calm presence amidst the darkness. My father. Zephyr. He became my companion, my imaginary friend, whispering in my ear to hold on. Winter doesn’t last forever. Spring is coming.
