The wind... I'm watching it. Its power, humbling. Its voice strong and bold, it begins to chime. I decide to take notes on what I see and hear as part of my writing practice, a ritual I’ve recently begun before I begin to chip away again at the chapters in my book. What starts out as a ten-minute exercise on writing with presence-of-mind quickly turns into a sixty-minute lesson on resilience.
And today she is my muse. She makes no excuses. She doesn’t wait. She simply moves ahead and picks a direction. There are leaves and branches and twigs pressing against her and, yet, she stays straight. Three crows and a large black V of geese fly in the opposite direction and she pays no attention, she’s on her own journey. The clouds cling to her and sail along across the blue, attaching to her back like a papoose. At times she is fierce and relentless, a mother in control of her flock, her voice, the loudest sound in the sky. If you get in her way she will push back against you and not let you pass without a fight. She’s come too far, traveled too long to be stopped now just because she’s had a little trouble along the way.
And then there are the moments when she is calm, when she lets the clouds have a rest. I see her gently push the wind chimes back and forth like a baby giggling in his swing, and I wait for her to fully stop. She pretends to, almost intentionally trying to fool me into thinking her journey is over, she’s going to take a break, hang up her hat. Then a swirl of leaves dance a circle around my feet and off she goes again, full speed ahead, to finish what she started -- her next chapter, about to begin.