“The wind is ruthless. Grabbing the trees and shaking them angrily at the sky. Freezing, howling gusts come screaming down from the snowy peaks to blow across wet expanses of pavement.
I sit here on the porch with a hot cup of coffee, my hands wrapped lovingly around it’s warmth, watching the fury of winter.
My hair blows around me like the tossing boughs of those cedar trees, and a chill creeps in beneath my fuzzy robe. I tuck my toes beneath the shelter of my legs, adopting the lotus position on my green plastic chair.
Closing my eyes to better hear whispers on the wind, I discern a pattern in it’s violence. One, two, three, FOUR… One, two, tree, FOUR… I sway with the rhythm, like all the other growing things do.
The last leaves that stubbornly occupied the forest are ripped forcibly from their perches and pepper sprayed with stinging horizontal rain drops. Cast into the growing puddles and under the wheels of passing traffic, cast down from their previous heights by the merciless fury of greater forces… That is the nature of things, this falling… But these dead and desiccated bodies will feed the fertility of tomorrow, and spring will bloom glorious in the wake of their sacrifice.
I sit here in the midst of the tempest, contemplating the similarities of it’s destruction to the decimation of reality. This ethereal touch of wind that in warmer days dried the river from my skin, now buffets me angrily, seeking to penetrate my solid form. Such a weightless aspect to cause such catastrophe.
My coffee is in need of a warm up, and so am I, so I will escape the molestation of weather in the relative safety of four strong walls… The wind in my head however will blow easily past my walls, and find the silent place in my heart where I hide.”