the wind and the trees
This last week was the first big storm of the season. Cold and very windy. Rain drops splatting heavy and insistent. I walked on Sunday after a big night of weather and there were trees down everywhere. They lie at strange angles, broken, propped up, ripped out.
And I let the wind hit my face.
There was sea lion stealing salmon from seals and slapping the fish senseless against the surface of the water before eating them.
Then, a coyote stopped and stared hard at me through the car window, looking half undressed in between summer and winter coats.
The gray squirrels daring moved purposefully up and down the firs, still industrious but not as noisy as the early weeks of fall.
The wind came in big gusts like blowing out birthday candles. Each time it hit me I let myself soften into the gust. Slippery leaves not yet rotten, good and hearty. Clouds becoming and unbecoming. The uneven sound of my gait on the path.
I fought the urge to finish whatever podcast I had been trying to listen to for weeks. The lists in my head coalesced and dissolved because my face, hands, and ankles were cold.
I walked and the focus of my eyes changed from horizon to tiny moss in front of me and back again. I felt my skin warm with exertion. It was ordinary and so was I. Nothing was resolved.
I settled into that mess. So much aliveness.