The Tale of The Majestic Windmill and The Crimson Cord

A Russian Skazka

By Fr. David of Rome (Burrows)

©2026 All Rights Reserved 

For Julian, Kieran, Finnian and all the cradles to come.

In a certain kingdom, in a far-off land radiant with unearthly light, there rose a high and holy mountain. Upon its very summit stood the Majestic Windmill — more glorious than any palace, more splendid than any golden-domed cathedral. Its base was hewn of ancient oak and unyielding stone, and its four mighty wings shimmered like the wings of angels.

From this Windmill flowed four crystal rivers, sparkling and sweet to the taste, rushing down the mountain to the four corners of the earth, bringing life-giving mist to every land. Round about it bloomed fragrant orchids and orchards heavy with golden fruit whose fragrance filled the air like incense. Meadows of sweet-scented flowers swayed in gentle breezes. Clouds of golden bees hummed their ancient hymns, while birds of every bright feather filled the air with joyful song. The grass was soft beneath bare feet, and the whole garden-city overflowed with joy, wrapped in peaceful bliss.

In the very heart of the mountain stood the Holy Temple, where heaven kissed the earth. From that altar stretched a glowing Crimson Cord, woven of divine light and love. Through that sacred cord flowed the King’s own uncreated energies — the very breath and life of the King — stirring the Windmill and pouring out blessing upon all the land.

The good and loving King gathered His people and spake unto them: “My children, keep the Windmill sacred. Guard the Temple and the Crimson Cord with all your heart and soul. As long as the cord remains joined, the Windmill shall spin forever, filling the earth with heavenly breath and living waters.”

And the people rejoiced with great rejoicing, and carved upon their city gates in letters of pure gold:  

Keep It Sacred. Keep It Safe.

But lo, there came slithering into that fair garden a cunning Dragon, an ancient foe, with a tongue smoother than honey and sharper than any sword. He whispered slyly: “Did the King truly say you must remain bound by this cord? Push once upon this silver box I bring you — heart-shaped, crowned with a bright ruby-red gem — and you shall awaken the spark within. Freedom and power shall be yours, and you will need neither Temple nor cord!”

The people listened to the tempter. They pressed the gem. 

Click! 

A warm, intoxicating mist rose up, sweet at first but leaving bitterness behind. In that very hour the Holy Temple was taken into heaven, the Crimson Cord fell slack to the ground, and the great Windmill groaned, slowed, and came to a sorrowful stop.

At once the garden-city began to wither. The golden fruit grew dull and fell rotting to the earth. The flowers lost their scent and color. The rivers grew muddy and shallow. The bees fell silent and the birds flew away. A shadow of death crept over the mountain, and joy fled from the land.

Still the Dragon lied: “Never fear, my dears. Push the button again whenever you wish! The gem is all you need.” Many, bewitched, kept pushing for another puff of that enchanted mist. With every push the downward spiral grew steeper. The people became restless and divided. Thorns and thistles sprang up where once flowers bloomed. The once-sweet air grew heavy and stale. The mountain itself seemed to tremble under the weight of sorrow.

In His great mercy the King sent prophets among the people — one prophet, then another, then yet a third. They taught the people to build a humbler temple of wood and stone and to tie a lesser cord. For a time life stirred again — green shoots appeared, faint songs returned, and the rivers flowed a little clearer — yet it was only a shadow of former glory, a preparation for what was to come. And one prophet foretold: “Wait, my children — the King’s own beloved Son shall come. He will defeat the Dragon, restore the true Crimson Cord, and set the Windmill spinning with life evermore.”

Then the Dragon hissed his deadliest lies, cloaked in false kindness:  

“Never, never touch that old crimson cord again!  

Keep it sacred? Keep it safe? What nonsense, my friends!  

Those words upon your gates are chains to bind your souls,  

Heavy, dusty burdens that make you weak and dull.  

The silver box has freed you — cast off the cord, my dears,  

Live wild and free at last, without such foolish fears!”

At the appointed hour the King’s only-begotten Son came quietly into the world, walking among the people like a humble stranger. He spoke gently:  

“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden,  

I will give you rest, as only I, the Prince, have bidden.  

Not mere pardon for your sins, nor forgiveness alone,  

But the very uncreated energies of Life — My own!”

The Dragon was dozing in his dark lair, gloating in victorious sleep, when suddenly he awoke with a start. One of the people, listening with a hungry heart to the unknown stranger, had thrown away his silver box in disgust — and it flew through the air and struck the Dragon squarely on the head!

Klonk!

“What?!” the Dragon roared, leaping up in fury. He peered from the shadows and saw with disgust that many of the people were indeed listening to this humble stranger. Their hearts were beginning to change. Some were casting their silver boxes to the ground, trampling them underfoot, and turning their faces toward the newcomer with new hope.

“This weed must be nipped in the bud!” hissed the ancient serpent. Burning with rage, the Dragon and his servants rose up. In mockery of the King’s Majestic Windmill they raised a twisted, cruel engine outside the city. Then the Dragon roared with a voice like poison mixed with thunder:  

“Is THIS your worthless desiring — that old and broken, rotting thing?  

That dusty, dying, spinning wreck from your pathetic, feeble King?  

Stand back, you blind and foolish slaves! Behold what I alone can bring!  

A new and darker engine, black with power, pain, and deadly sting!  

Upon its twisted, cursed wings I’ll raise and nail your wretched thing —  

Your foolish little stranger there, nailed high as my own dark offering!”

Upon its warped wings they lifted the Prince high, scourging Him together with thieves. There, in perfect love, the Son took into His own breast all the poison of the people’s fall. He descended even into death, not to calm wrath, but to conquer it from within by the power of His undying Life.

The Dragon thought he had won. But when the Prince was laid in the earth, Hades received Heaven which it could not contain. 

The Dragon shrieked, “What is this? What is happening?

This is no stranger no simple thing!

All is falling! This is a reckoning!

This was to be a man — but He is the King!”

Light shone forth driving out darkness, death collapsed under the weight of glory, the gates of hades tore asunder, the Dragon crushed by the heel of Heaven. The Prince arose victorious! Ascending in glory, He placed the Crimson Cord into the holy wound in His pierced side. From that wound flowed living Blood and Water — the fountain of new life — binding heaven and earth together like never before.

Suddenly the Majestic Windmill awoke with a thunderous roar! Its wings blazed with celestial fire and spun more gloriously than at the dawn of the world. The four rivers surged forth, crystal-clear and sweet, carrying the life-giving mist once again to the four corners of the earth. 

Then the garden-city blossomed forth anew! Fragrant orchids bloomed again. The orchards burst into fresh golden fruit, filling the air with rich, sweet fragrance. Meadows of flowers opened in every color, their scents rising like incense. Golden bees hummed loudly in great clouds, and birds of every bright feather returned, filling the air with triumphant song. The grass grew soft and lush beneath bare feet. The whole mountain rang with joy and laughter as the people came out to dance and rejoice. The air itself shimmered with the uncreated energies of the King, driving away every shadow of death.

And whosoever comes to the Prince, drinks of His water, and breathes the holy breath born from His side shall live fully, freely, and forever in the renewed garden-city.

The Dragon’s silver box lies forgotten amid the barren wastes, its false power shattered long ago. Yet even now the old serpent’s minions coil in the shadows and whisper his poison into unwary ears.

Therefore, dear children, with vigilance and holy fear,  

Guard well your hearts, hold the Faith both precious and dear.  

Remember the words inscribed in letters of old,  

Carved upon the gates in shining letters of gold…

Keep It Sacred. Keep It Safe.

 — this truth forever hold!

The End