Friday, April 15, 2011

cloudy with wind

The wind is angry today. It is a chilly, blustery wind, and even in these early hours, howling through the trees and battering against the walls of my house, it seems conflicted by spring’s effort to nudge out winter. Or is it that I am the one conflicted, trying to decide what to write, when to write and if I should even write at all.

In looking over past journal notebooks, I notice that I usually begin all my reflections with some description of the weather. Which seems to me to be a bit odd, because, although I prefer the outdoors and nature to about anything, I spend most of my days inside climate-controlled environments - the car, the house, the office. I wonder why the first thing I do each morning is look out both the front and back windows to see what the weather is doing. I live smack in the middle of the southern plains, so it is a pretty good bet that the weather is going to be doing today what it did yesterday. I mean it’s not like I live somewhere that has constantly ever-changing weather. True we have spells of unpredictable weather, but on the whole the weather is pretty much the same all the time - sunny, clear and windy. Sometimes cold, sometimes hot, but that’s about it.

If I dig really deep into my psyche, I think my obsession with the weather comes from a childhood spent playing and living exuberantly outdoors. Growing up in northern Texas, the opportunity to live and play outdoors existed nearly every day save for a few weeks in the winter. So I did. My most vivid and happy childhood memories are ones of playing elaborate fantasy games with friends in my yard or theirs, exploring the wooded creek near my home, riding horseback with my dad around the lake, or swimming in whatever pool was closest available. So I guess that each morning when I peek out the windows to check the weather, my gypsy wild child spirit is reaching out to reclaim some of that childhood anticipation of “what adventures await?!” What adventures do await? It seems like lately the perception is not so much of adventures as of chores (the dreaded time-stealer of children everywhere). I mean who wants to do chores when there are imaginary jungles to explore, fantasy castles to build, adventurous books to write or passionate pictures to paint? For me, ‘real’ life was all the spicy adventures in the world of play and free time that existed outside of school, chores and homework. When I peek out the windows in the morning, I think I am still hoping to light an excited fire in my soul that will propel me through a day filled with chores to those stolen moments when I can escape into the spicy adventure of ‘real’ life.