The wind has died here too, and the ceiling of sky has lifted and all the world is light and blue and vibrant, and the finches are grubbing for great food at the feeder, and my son-in-law is in town, and I listened to some heart-opening poetry and music - I am thoroughly grateful for this day, one of the strongest I have had in years!
Sitting on a balcony, gazing through thick, rain soaked air. The mountains have disappeared in dense clouds. Rain plays a soft, steady percussion. Waves rise white from the grey at the head of the bay. My lungs savor the moisture. The greens dotted with purples and reds expand this desert rat's view of life on our planet. Nene squak, flying like Canadian Geese. Donning raincoat and water shoes, I exit this dry shelter. Grateful my legs still walk me.
The winds are here now in my city of Cleveland, Ohio. I hear them howling down the hallway to the parking garage of the building I’m sitting in - Severance Hall - where the world renowned Cleveland Orchestra is rehearsing in the hall behind my desk. The temps have dropped 20 degrees in the last 2 hours! I do feel anxious in these winter windstorms. Thanks for sharing your gratitude for the passing windstorm. I’ll be grateful when it passes through our region.
What a gift that you work in Severance Hall with the Cleveland Orchestra filling the building with music! I can imagine how much music the building must have absorbed over the years, and I think that the structure itself must be imbued with that magic. I know that doesn't alleviate the anxiety of the storm you're in now, but it surely must be soul-filling in the normal run of days. May the storm pass through without incident, and may you breathe out deep relief when it does!
Ah, that's a good realization, because without soil, there would be no plants! And I imagine that thought was prompted in part after the soil workshop at the Landscaping with Colorado Native Plants conference last weekend. I'm still pondering all I learned!
And I am grateful for that poem that brings your part of Texas to me via the magic of electronic communication. Especially those first two lines: "passionate and tangled air/that knotted itself into early morning gusts...." Beautiful and so evocative. Also, 90 degrees F! In February! Good goddess, that is way too warm. Enjoy the muffins and the applesauce and the dancing oak leaves.
Oh, yes, Susan! I know that without wind, none of our weather systems would move or change, but, oh, the relief when the howling stops. I don't sleep, am a bit ouchy, and I am grateful for heavy bags of dogfood to keep me from sailing across the ice as I unload my truck!
Oh, the picture of you with those heavy bags of dog food as ballast to keep you from sliding on the ice! I am grateful too, because I don't want you falling. Wyoming's winter and spring winds are indeed fierce, and I hope that this is a relatively balmy late winter and early spring. Stay on your feet and well!
Hi Susan! I smiled as I read about the whitecaps on your birdbath. A fine mental image. As you began with passages of Lyall Watson’s “Heaven’s Breath” it seemed my glasses were suddenly cleared of debris! The revelation of his conclusions and findings hit like a carefully thrown dart to my temple! As if a number of loose ends had become tied together. Yesterday wind suddenly whipped up, coming in off the Gulf of Mexico. Not single digit RH, yet carrying an unsettling feeling. My dog seemed startled, and I thought “tornado alert.” 25-35 mph my estimate. Gone as quickly as they came. My night’s sleep was shallow, fidgety. On rising I had a quick adjustment of plans to perform and I couldn’t seem to get my bearings. Unfocused. Not a firm grasp on how exactly to compensate?
Not Watson to the letter. And I appreciate your passing along your observations and experiences to other practitioners of Terraphillia. Grateful.
Hello, Gary, No, not Watson to the letter, but definitely a good description of some of the symptoms of our unease in windy conditions. Of course, he was writing there about the kinds of warm, dry winds that accelerate as they slide off of continental mountain masses, not your moist winds off the ocean, which he describes in other parts of his fine book. Which you might enjoy reading to learn all of the various facets of the world's winds. May your lack of focus and unease dissipate, and your equilibrium steady!
Thanks for your clarification and encouragement for climbing out of my doldrums. One overarching thought is how many other forces of our world, our universe, affect us in ways we’re often unaware of? Solar flares? Eclipses? (Lunar and solar) Distant earthquakes? My dog beside me? Pulse, BP, brain waves? Please know I’m not making a poor attempt at humor. Of course it would be. Wishing you all the best!
This is fascinating! I had no idea of the correlation. I’ve had a lifelong fearful awe of wind; its otherworldly power is intimidating and potentially destructive. My immersion therapy has been sailing (!!), and we’ve had some wild experiences with wind (not intentionally). Thanks for the book recommendation.
I bet you've had some wild experiences with wind while sailing--that's definitely one way to learn wind in an intimate way! I think you'll find Heaven's Breath fascinating. Watson was an erudite and informative writer.
I definitely share your gratitude for the ceasing of the winds, dear Susan. Howling winds always bother me. Something I imagine being handed down from my ancient ancestors who lived in caves. The distress is definitely deep and cellular. And the worst of it is during the night... in the dark!
I agree, Liz. Wind is worse in the night, and the sound of those waves of air crashing against a building has kept me awake in other houses. This one seems to be sheltered enough that I can sleep through the wind. I have to say that caves are usually very well insulated from the wind, unless it is blowing straight at the opening. I think our cave-dwelling ancestors probably felt the harmful electrical energy in the wind more keenly than we do, and that is what drives that cell-deep distress.
The wind has died here too, and the ceiling of sky has lifted and all the world is light and blue and vibrant, and the finches are grubbing for great food at the feeder, and my son-in-law is in town, and I listened to some heart-opening poetry and music - I am thoroughly grateful for this day, one of the strongest I have had in years!
How wonderful! May the strength and energy you feel this day carry you onward, as if a new current is flowing through you. <3
Sitting on a balcony, gazing through thick, rain soaked air. The mountains have disappeared in dense clouds. Rain plays a soft, steady percussion. Waves rise white from the grey at the head of the bay. My lungs savor the moisture. The greens dotted with purples and reds expand this desert rat's view of life on our planet. Nene squak, flying like Canadian Geese. Donning raincoat and water shoes, I exit this dry shelter. Grateful my legs still walk me.
Enjoy the walk in the rain by the ocean! It IS a gift to be able to get out and walk, even when you're not in Hawai'i. :)
That Chandler quote from his story “Red Wind,” is one of my favorites. Thank you for the chuckle.
The image of the knife always makes me laugh. It's a great passage. :)
The winds are here now in my city of Cleveland, Ohio. I hear them howling down the hallway to the parking garage of the building I’m sitting in - Severance Hall - where the world renowned Cleveland Orchestra is rehearsing in the hall behind my desk. The temps have dropped 20 degrees in the last 2 hours! I do feel anxious in these winter windstorms. Thanks for sharing your gratitude for the passing windstorm. I’ll be grateful when it passes through our region.
What a gift that you work in Severance Hall with the Cleveland Orchestra filling the building with music! I can imagine how much music the building must have absorbed over the years, and I think that the structure itself must be imbued with that magic. I know that doesn't alleviate the anxiety of the storm you're in now, but it surely must be soul-filling in the normal run of days. May the storm pass through without incident, and may you breathe out deep relief when it does!
Most mornings when I walk my dogs in Elk Meadow, I thank the trees, shrubs, and all the beautiful grasses. Today I thought, I need to thank the soil!
Ah, that's a good realization, because without soil, there would be no plants! And I imagine that thought was prompted in part after the soil workshop at the Landscaping with Colorado Native Plants conference last weekend. I'm still pondering all I learned!
grateful for passionate and tangled air
that knotted itself into early morning gusts
and blew leaves everywhere
here in Texas, the Live Oaks shed in March
yesterday was an unseasonal ninety degrees
but the morning winds
broke the fever
baked muffins this afternoon
ate them with applesauce
and read your Gratitude stack
from the kitchen window
leaves dance around the back porch
your words dance on a flickering screen
here in Texas, the Live Oaks shed in March
And I am grateful for that poem that brings your part of Texas to me via the magic of electronic communication. Especially those first two lines: "passionate and tangled air/that knotted itself into early morning gusts...." Beautiful and so evocative. Also, 90 degrees F! In February! Good goddess, that is way too warm. Enjoy the muffins and the applesauce and the dancing oak leaves.
Oh, yes, Susan! I know that without wind, none of our weather systems would move or change, but, oh, the relief when the howling stops. I don't sleep, am a bit ouchy, and I am grateful for heavy bags of dogfood to keep me from sailing across the ice as I unload my truck!
Oh, the picture of you with those heavy bags of dog food as ballast to keep you from sliding on the ice! I am grateful too, because I don't want you falling. Wyoming's winter and spring winds are indeed fierce, and I hope that this is a relatively balmy late winter and early spring. Stay on your feet and well!
Hi Susan! I smiled as I read about the whitecaps on your birdbath. A fine mental image. As you began with passages of Lyall Watson’s “Heaven’s Breath” it seemed my glasses were suddenly cleared of debris! The revelation of his conclusions and findings hit like a carefully thrown dart to my temple! As if a number of loose ends had become tied together. Yesterday wind suddenly whipped up, coming in off the Gulf of Mexico. Not single digit RH, yet carrying an unsettling feeling. My dog seemed startled, and I thought “tornado alert.” 25-35 mph my estimate. Gone as quickly as they came. My night’s sleep was shallow, fidgety. On rising I had a quick adjustment of plans to perform and I couldn’t seem to get my bearings. Unfocused. Not a firm grasp on how exactly to compensate?
Not Watson to the letter. And I appreciate your passing along your observations and experiences to other practitioners of Terraphillia. Grateful.
Hello, Gary, No, not Watson to the letter, but definitely a good description of some of the symptoms of our unease in windy conditions. Of course, he was writing there about the kinds of warm, dry winds that accelerate as they slide off of continental mountain masses, not your moist winds off the ocean, which he describes in other parts of his fine book. Which you might enjoy reading to learn all of the various facets of the world's winds. May your lack of focus and unease dissipate, and your equilibrium steady!
Thanks for your clarification and encouragement for climbing out of my doldrums. One overarching thought is how many other forces of our world, our universe, affect us in ways we’re often unaware of? Solar flares? Eclipses? (Lunar and solar) Distant earthquakes? My dog beside me? Pulse, BP, brain waves? Please know I’m not making a poor attempt at humor. Of course it would be. Wishing you all the best!
All of the above, I'm sure. And your dog is the most positive of those forces.... ;)
This is fascinating! I had no idea of the correlation. I’ve had a lifelong fearful awe of wind; its otherworldly power is intimidating and potentially destructive. My immersion therapy has been sailing (!!), and we’ve had some wild experiences with wind (not intentionally). Thanks for the book recommendation.
David Abram has a great essay about wind and mood, in Orion. https://orionmagazine.org/article/the-air-aware/
Thanks for this! I'll read it after I give a presentation on ecological restoration for a Native Plant group tonight. :)
I bet you've had some wild experiences with wind while sailing--that's definitely one way to learn wind in an intimate way! I think you'll find Heaven's Breath fascinating. Watson was an erudite and informative writer.
I definitely share your gratitude for the ceasing of the winds, dear Susan. Howling winds always bother me. Something I imagine being handed down from my ancient ancestors who lived in caves. The distress is definitely deep and cellular. And the worst of it is during the night... in the dark!
I agree, Liz. Wind is worse in the night, and the sound of those waves of air crashing against a building has kept me awake in other houses. This one seems to be sheltered enough that I can sleep through the wind. I have to say that caves are usually very well insulated from the wind, unless it is blowing straight at the opening. I think our cave-dwelling ancestors probably felt the harmful electrical energy in the wind more keenly than we do, and that is what drives that cell-deep distress.
Your reply proves how important it is to have scientists as friends! XOXOXO
<3