wind

in the trail of a typhoon, there is wind. typhoon fanapi has blown over taiwan, headed toward the mainland. the swirling rains have passed, but not the winds. my windows rattle and whistle, and from time to time i hear something heavy blow down the street, far below me.

i venture out after being shut in all weekend. the wind pushes and pulls me as i walk, and it's perfect. i am not afraid; i feel comforted by the wind.

wind reminds me of home, where the midwest's open prairies are vulnerable to gusts all year round. in summer, tornadic winds flatten fields, rip ancient trees to splinters and send chickens tumbling across the barnyard. in winter, the bitterly cold wind can make the snow fly from earth to the sky and sculpt twenty-foot high snow dunes overnight.

i stop on the sidewalk, letting the typhoon's winds pick me up, rip my hair out of its ponytail and suck the breath from my lungs. closing my eyes, i ride the wind, weightless. flocks of leaves from distant, unseen trees tap me on the shoulders. aside from the siren-song of the wind, the city is quiet for once. and, except for the faint scent of the pacific ocean which has been carried inland on fanapi's wings, i could be home.