Have You Ever FELT the Wind?

I don't mean 'Bill Pullman and (Oooo, la la!) Helen Hunt strapping themselves to the Artesian well in Twister' wind. I mean a small gust, a breeze, a wafting, a caress, a whisper, barely enough to toussle hair. Have you ever really felt them? Have you ever taken the time and invested the effort to really open up your mind, your heart, your pores, your senses to the experience of a wind?

This is the reason I occasionally lie on my belly in the sun at the beach. This is aside from the fact that I'd look absolutely ridiculous sporting only the suntan I get sitting in my beach chair with an open book on my lap, under an umbrella with SPF 30 sunscreen on and everything. If I didn't occasionally warm up the backside under the world's largest tanning lamp, I would look like a sunnyside up egg! The reason I lie on the beach in the sun sometimes is to feel the sea breezes. I lie there, slathered in sunscreen, sweat dripping from my hair, behind my ears, between my breasts. I come to believe I cannot possibly get any hotter without spontaneously combusting. Then a breeze will stir...the best ones are accompanied by the sun passing behind a cloud...and all the heat feels worth it. I've lain in hell for 30 minutes (though it's probably only been around three minutes...I can get dramatic in the heat) for the joy and blessing of being kissed all over my back by an angel's breath...a wingbeat of wind.

Tonight, after I finished the day's tasks, I sat on my step and surveyed my domain. A breeze stirred the thin branches of the trees above me. I, in the hollow, didn't feel it. I was treated to the rustling movement above with only a wisp of a breeze touching me. I have wind chimes that have never sounded down here. I listen to the neighbor's chimes at the top of the hill instead. I love my little hollow.

A favorite wind is the one that brings a thunderstorm on a hot summer late afternoon or evening. In August, when the ground is hard and dry and the temperature is brutal. One would think the humidity alone would water the plants but that seems intent on watering only the humans. The air itself seems to soak up too much...heat, moisture. The clouds close in and swell. The sky turns an ominous grey or black. Then the wind kicks up, violently strong, whipping the treetops, sometimes bowing a might trunk. The scent borne on that wind is nectar to me. The air, heavy-laden with moisture, rushing in. The sense of coolness behind the wind. The smell of the rain on scorched earth borne miles to me with a promise of relief to come. The ground fairly weeps with joy, in anticipation, as do I.