Winded

We are kindred spirits.

The Wind and myself.

Always moving, searching, changing, welcoming joy and rejuvenation,

Sometimes howling, chasing,

And inevitably pissing others off.

Not everyone likes the wind.

It does not care what we look like or who we are trying to impress.

The wind just makes a way, aware but blasé, transient through our distress.

I’ve never liked the way that the wind ignores my carefully braided hair, separating the strands into a tangled, unmanageable mess, for which my centered part becomes undefined. But perhaps I should just let my hair down.

I begin to sense the beauty of the wind.

The glorious way it navigates drifting balloons across the sky,

Released by a distracted five year-old on her training-wheeled bike.

It makes a way for sailors to glide through the waters in search of undiscovered islands; for pirates to blunder around the seas in search of hidden treasure; for chimes to dance like an octopus, producing the music of nature that rings through our ears, spirals around our vertebrae, and directly into our soul.

Wind brings inspiration.

Just now I thought I was reading the right passage in my book, but I was wrong. The wind has something else to uncover, as its hands suddenly take my dog-eared page and flip it all the way back to page 17: “…all of this only takes somewhere between one and two minutes, so I haven’t actually wasted that much time. Still, it leaves me winded. I go back to trying to breathe, slowly and calmly, and I finally notice the one-inch picture frame that I put on my desk to remind me of short assignments.”

And there that word is; winded.

I think how wonderful of a feeling that can be, to have dealt with drudgery,

Worked hard

Endured tension

And to then release that to the world and just pause.

Allow time to pass.

To be winded is a legitimate excuse to breathe and draw attention to the things that perhaps were missed along the way.

There are a lot of intimate details to be captured by a one-inch picture frame.

I make a mental note to fashion one for myself.

In this moment I am still.

Whenever the wind comes it seems to accelerate my movement as I walk downhill, and I lose control as my hair blows across my face,

Blindfolding me.

As I’ve said, I’ve never liked that feeling, and so I instead choose to experience something different.

Perhaps I can become one with the wind.

I sit, breathe, let go of control, and let my hair flow, finding contentment in not having to move or decide on anything. I just listen to the breeze and ask my spirit what it wants of me.

It brought you to my table.

 Aggravated and flustered, with scorching hot coffee overflowing onto your freshly ironed white shirt, notebooks toppling onto the ground as you attempt to balance too much on your forearm, the clock reflecting a time later than what you had hoped.

“Please excuse me. I’m so sorry. Oh lord I’m probably so late and this coffee is so hot. And my class is all the way in Smullin. Miss, what’s the time? 10:19? Oh yes I’m already late. UGH…”

Somehow you still manage to share a smile and laughter with me, as you continue to rant and sip from your coffee cup, now carefully set on the table next to my almost empty mason jar, containing an ounce of apple spiced tea, and adorned with a straw tied bow, creatively wrapped around a honey pot shaped tag, bearing the words Collect Moments in pencil.

“Is your class at 10:20?”

“Yes. I’ve got to go. Thank you so much!”

“Good luck!” If it helps, I spilled toothpaste on my sweatshirt this morning and had another last minute change of plans that brought me here to this sun-stained, umbrella covered table, rather than going to work.

A warm feeling of joy erupts from my core as I welcome the wind to sit beside me and join as I continue to read and write. I reach for the remains of my tea and find that a bee has made it’s way to the honey pot. Collect Moments.

The wind lifts my pencil and I write everything down.