Tornado Season

If you could let the wind blow, would you do so?

Yes?

Ah, I see you haven't felt this wind. This wind comes from farmland in deep Oklahoma, from soil so flat it seems to have been ironed by God's own hand. It might enlighten a farmer shucking corn on the porch of his house, drying the sweat on the back of his neck. It might tickle a scarecrow ever so slightly, just enough to send jolts of fear through the crows who dig their claws into its "skin.” Pardon my lack of knowledge on this subject, can a scarecrow scare crows despite this wind, or does the wind do all the scaring for him, and the scarecrow simply takes the credit? This wind pushes the NEW and IMPROVED WIND TURBINE 5000! It might begin to climb up a skirt, every once in a while, uninvited, the way wind always is. Point is, this wind comes and goes in refreshing blows, blows which turn to gusts turn to whips turn to the almost unnatural upright hollow cone shape. That is the wind of which I speak of. Now, would you let the wind blow as it pleases?

In my many years I have lived on this earth, I too was once naive like you. I once believed I could let the wind blow. It came and went and crept and grabbed and gusted and whipped and, well yes it blew. If I had known how the wind would blow, I would have never thought to hang the clothes on the line. I would never have done the washing in the first place. I wouldn’t have opened the window which sat above Pandora’s box, nor stupidly opened the door, yet here I am.

How am I here? Well, my disciple, I must admit I stand before you with wind on my side, and not against it, which surprises even me some mornings. I never meant to scare you of the wind, dear sweet child of mine, oh precious no. The wind, yes, is at first a tempting force, the kind that whispers before it howls. But I never said that wind and womankind couldn't sail harmoniously, that we couldn't learn each other's rhythms and move as one instead of one moving through the other. Listen, for I speak of the tango between the wind and me, a dance where neither of us ever quite leads. After the Oklahoma wind rounded up a sandstorm, I bought nails to board up the window.  Hammer in hand, I smashed the nails flush into the frame, one after another, each strike a small vow. I made sure to board the windows from the inside, careful not to let even a draft through. And yet, no matter the precautions taken, no matter the nails, the boards, the vows, I am one of Eve's daughters, and daughters like us were never built for boarded windows. A whistle turned to a hum, turned to a draft, turned to hammer in hand, bashing rotten wood. So yes, child, the wind stands behind me now.

I must ask you one last time: if you could let the wind blow, would you do so?

Yes?

Well, that’s a fine choice if I do say so myself. Every breeze is a chance. A chance you must have the courage to take, knowing full well it may return as a gust, a whip, a cone of upright and unnatural fury. I challenge you to find that courage anyway, to face it and run with it, hand in hand, as far as you can, farther than the farmer's porch, farther than the scarecrow's post, farther than any window you thought might hold. Dare to be brave for the wind is not a leash nor a viel but an ever crashing wave you must ride until it dies.