The wind out there is absolutely gorgeous — it is rich with scent and humidity and depth and it makes the trees rumble like very small thunder.
I want to be in that other place today. In fact I want to be there every time that the wind makes this noise. The ache of being somewhere else instead is…
Big. Deep. Everywhere. Relentless.
It started when three rivers converged to create a raging torrent of grief and loss. It was my own annus horrible, and I am still — only sometimes — feeling the effects.
It’s further away now. Further but not gone, and when the wind is like this, the pain is fresh and the howl of my daughter’s anguish is carried back freshly to my ears.
So I go out and stand in the wind. I would not lose these memories or this experience for all the safety and comfort in the world.