The Wind in Your Face - March 27 2022

 

The Wind in Your Face

March 27 2022

On a day when the wind

is whistling through the cracks.

When you can lean into it

with all your weight

and not fall on your face.

When the unremitting din

sounds almost threatening,

I think of astronauts

who come back to earth

and report what they missed.

The long hot showers.

Fresh food, familiar beds.

Loved ones

and family pets.

But also a pleasant breeze.

The wind in their face

and tousling their hair.

The fragrant air

of a soft summer day.

Who knew

you had to travel to space,

spend too many weeks

in a cramped metal container

to appreciate such basic things.

Even a fierce wind like this

reminds me of earth's simple pleasures.

A near gale,

toppling trees

stinging eyes

and tearing at the power lines;

so the sagging black wires

play crack the whip, 

the lights flickering

the atmosphere charged.

The thin air

in which we swim,

hardly aware

of its substance and power.

And how wild weather

arouses something in me.

I step outside

into its teeth,

ignore its chilly bite

revel in the thrill.

Breathe deep,

inhaling the pungent smell of wood-smoke

the earthy pong of spring.

I stepped outside this morning, and was immediately struck to see that for the third consecutive day a high pressure wind was still blasting in from the northwest. Inside, the night before, I could hear it whistling on and off. As always, I had been worried about the towering white pine just upwind of the house. And, as it usually does in a big wind, the factoid about the astronauts came to mind.

So yes, another weather poem. But I hope with enough twists to make it worthwhile.