Last night the wind shifted.
Abruptly.
Yesterday, the lazy air from the Gulf
Drifted around my neighborhood
Lounged with damp fingers on the flagstones.
A sweaty dame on a chaise lounge
too bored to get up and leave.
The north wind knocked her out of the chair
ripped the plastic plaid strapping from the hollow metal tubes
I heard the clatter of it
Late
Then gust after gust sweeping her down the street
Ahh, she’s gone
I dug further under the covers.

Okay. Okay. Stop. I’m starting to get stuck on the form and trying too hard to be cute with the words and the images. Stop.

Here’s what  happened. I felt the weather change last night as I slept. I love when the wind shifts. I love the drama of it because you can never tell exactly what the change will look like. All the weather apps in the world can’t prepare you for the whistle or the banging or even the roar. I’ve been lucky. I’ve always lived in hearty homes where the walls didn’t break and roofs didn’t leak and windows only rattled. I’ve been safe. That’s when I thought about change. How we brace for it. How we try to navigate it with the least disruption possible. How we clench against it. Or soldier through. You get the idea.

Except…

Weather changes whether we brace or clench or plan.

And then I thought this profound thought: Ahh, so weather could be a practice. But what about climate change and global warming…Oh fuck.

Your ten minutes are way up. Let this post go. You’re done.