Windy Days

There have been a lot of windy days of late. I sit at the front desk of Job 1, listening to the howl of the gusts as they follow the patrons to the warm insides of the Y. Most of them comment on the cold or the briskness of the day.

I love the wind.

I love the way it tosses my newly-nearly-perfectly-cut bob. I tuck my eyeglasses into a pocket so they don't blow away when I lift my face to the breeze. I take deep breaths.  Wind is so much fresher, so clean compared to the stagnant air of the building. How can one not appreciate it?

Think of anything more satisfying than a summer night, cool winds, stars twinkling. Or a spring day, a slight chill in the air, fresh  scented breezes bringing lilacs and hyacinth from another place into your world. A fall afternoon, leaves blowing at your feet, a gust that makes you catch your breath, taking in great gulps, The water, playing in a strong wind, waves crashing against the breakwaters. Or winter,  the old man huffing and puffing, driving the pellets of snow in cyclones around the parking lots, dashing the fluffy stuff from the  branches, whipping your face, making you draw your coat closer. 

It's hard to think of other things when you are being battered by the wind.

Today is another of those days. It catches the back door as I let the dog out for the 132nd time this morning. My old friend stands in the yard, his face to the wind, closing his eyes as it flows through his fur.  I watch him, coffee in hand, as his ears flap. He seems to like windy days as much as I do.

I want someone to enjoy this day with me. Hubby is sleeping off a third shift. Friends are unavailable or disapprove of my love of winter bluster. I guess it's just me and my elderly canine.

Hey, Rocco, how about a romp in the yard?