I’ve been thinking about the wind today. Look it up in a thesaurus and you’ll find at least a dozen alternatives, ranging from zephyr to tempest, and every air speed in between. We’ve had an abundance lately – of the wild and gale-force variety – and while living in a landscape littered with wind turbines might be a clue that ours is a blustery prairie, its force and destructive tendency has been elevated beyond the usual this Spring.
I have a love-hate relationship with the wind. But mostly a hate relationship. Actually there is almost no love at all. I am bothered by the incessant rush of noise, the bent flowers, and my messy fine hair. When I can’t use an umbrella (in heat or in rain) because it will be rendered inside out in mere moments. I am frustrated when plans are thwarted by an unrelenting gale. I undoubtedly recognize its value – spreading seeds, moving stagnant and putrid air, keeping bugs at bay, and providing relief on a hot and humid afternoon – all of these and more are not lost on my rational brain. And yet still I envision a perfect day being one where the air is still and my enjoyment of it is not interrupted by a passing shiver.
I am making a willful effort this year to embrace the wind – and it is no easy feat to enfold a moving gas. I am searching for beauty in its wildness. Trusting that the Wind-giver might have something to teach me. And patience is key since I can be somewhat obstinate. There are more detestable things than a bitter wind, as Mr. Shakespeare so beautifully wrote.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
I live on the prairie. Wind is part of that, whether I love it or not. And if wind is breath, then life is dependent upon it.