When harsh winds blow some whine, “How the wicked wind oppresses me!” Others wonder how they could make money off that wind by grinding grain or generating electricity. One turns it into poetry. The other turns a profit.

The Little People dwelt in the windmill. Like everyone they loved good stories. The Big People owned the mill. They tolerated the Little People because they bravely fought the Hungry Mice who wanted the grain as much as they did. “Get your own grain!” the Little People shouted. As a reward the Big People let the Little People have enough for their needs and internet connections.

Everything trended nicely, but the problem with trends is people forget once something goes one way long enough that it could go the other way.