Aeolus drags his finger through the sand. His mind is wandering aimlessly. He retraces the line in reverse. He digs a deep furrow as he ponders the power of Zeus.
“If Zeus merely sneezes his people bow down to him. I am only the god of the wind. If a sailor has a bad day he curses my name.” Aeolus draws a perpendicular line in the sand, crossing out the furrow he drew before. “If I want to show the sailor my mind, all I can do is blow harder, and the sailor will rejoice thinking that I have submitted to his insults.”
Aeolus begins to draw circles in the sand. He forms the sand within the round boundary into a point.
“I must be the lesser of all the gods. I do not control the animals, nor do I have the favour of the people.” Aeolus has been moping like this for long enough. He flattens his palm, and with it, he flattens the sand.
“Aeolus!” Booms the voice of Zeus. “You have razed the Acropolis! Stop!”
At that, Aeolus suddenly realises what he has done. He has carved a new channel for the Eridanos Stream and he has re-routed the Cephissus River. The whirlwind he unleashed prompts the people to leave offerings for the god of the wind at all the temples in Greece. Aeolus is flattered and dismayed.
“They fear and respect you now Aeolus.” Says Zeus. “You got what you wanted, but don’t repeat it. We are only gods because they believe it. Let them believe that you are a doer of evil and it will be so. You will inhabit the underworld, scraping Hades’ bunions for eternity.”
Today the winds blow freely. Aeolus was forgotten long ago. The gods only look down upon us since we stopped looking up.