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No wind. Just rain. Plants are in motion, pummeled with precipitation. Smoke from chimneys. Good day for soup. Better day for my eldest son to send his mum a note via What’s App and call her.
Love,
Mom
It’s so windy, all I keep thinking and singing is The Association’s “Windy” … “Everyone knows it’s windy …” http://bit.ly/e5Es9z
Rain all yesterday.
At last! no snow to be seen.
This morning is warm
with a thick and heavy air
and wind pushing big gray clouds.
No wind today. The air is still.
Sky breakthrough with the silent wind.
The sun is finally here. With it comes a bitter wind that whistles through alleyways, stoppinh cyclist, swaying trees and flinging scarves.
Last night, the wind blew,
banged, and shook the apartment –
scrambled up my dreams.
A Winnie-the Pooh day! Sunny, blustery, stimulating!
Aha! We have a gentle breeze that further chills the air. two blocks away the wind is almost balmy. Walking on the beach, exposed to the elements, with wind coming off the water the wind is frigid.
The low tide, exposing mussels, sea urchins and star fish, with the wind combine in the air and smell like a fish market. In time, you learn to savor the smell. Trust me.
Easy breeze, simple sound
no complaints from the gentlemen downtown.
Brittle, brown, barbed oak leaves flutter aimlessly to the ground, spawning more dead disorder amongst their fallen brethren on the cold flagstone––a tangible manifestation of entropy.
Watch! The benign breeze breaths resurrection into our oak’s dead dandruff! They assemble into spiraling, synchronized waltzes; they swing, shout, and savor this second chance, this last sip o’ life.
Hush. The wind has pinched into stillness. They must have seen us watching, so self-conscious. No, must have been a dream.
Another beautiful day in paradise. Huge waves, brilliant blue skies, and gentle winds combined with a balmy 70º .
The deep of winter in California; a sunny and crisp day with highs of 75 degrees F.
Sunday quiet; not even traffic sounds.
Wind speed measures zero.
The deciduous trees defy the numbers.
Study them.
The Survivors, the very few, dry brown leaves that still cling, twist in the occasional breeze resisting seasonal obsolescence.
The air floats flatly, waiting underneath the flat sky that scrapes blue across the flat land: my unbounded arena.
My world stretches as flatly as that of Odysseus.
That is, until the sun progressively magnifies its presence, peeking its forehead through a hole in nearby branches, a brilliant yoke viscously dripping into the corner of my eye. Its meek movement jump-starts the Earth’s rotundity, jump-starts science.
A breeze billows recognition.
Modest gusts, beneath the sun’s inviting countenance, cupped by the mountains, slide suavely over my shoulders. They pierce into my circle of existence, these tufts of energy, forever distorting and disturbing its composure, and that of those circles adjacent to it, and infinitely so on. Until their wakes ripple all around earth’s blue belly back here, where they began, now diluted to a shoved atom. Can I change the world?
A gentle wind stir the leaves, the sun is brilliant, the clouds are wispy tufts of cotton floating lazily in the sky, the air smells of salt. All is well.
A calm cold sunny day. The wind lightly brushing against my scarf bringing life to the tattered piece of textile around my neck. Walking between the city buildings is like playing hide and seek, you never know when the wind might surprise you.
No snow, no rain, just plain day.
wind is relaxed today.