Mr. Bluster

The wind has been boasting of its strength lately, trying to bully me back indoors. It has been flexing its muscle by pushing over trees, flinging limbs and branches to the ground, and throwing dust into the air obscuring the horizon from ground level to mountain top. It flies through the tree tops with a sound like rushing water. The trees sway and bend, breathing hard in the exertion of nature’s calisthenics.

The air is so thick with dust, that I wonder if I were to travel the sixty or so miles down the highway to the state line, would anything be there? Maybe all of northern New Mexico has traveled by air to this Colorado mountain valley. Certainly the wind has no regard for boundaries. It shows this disrespect in a most personal way when it chases smoke down the chimney into the house, making my eyes smart and my nose and throat burn.

When I was a girl, I imagined the wind was a result of the earth turning on its axis. Should that be the case, the earth is presently a whirling dervish spinning wildly in fits and starts.

I have planted my foot and informed the wind I’ll not be intimidated. I have spring gardening chores to do that will not wait until this tantrum passes. “Hey, Mr. Bluster, enough of this bad temper. Change your face. Your job is to usher winter out and escort spring in. Do it like a gentleman.”