The rain finally stopped sometime mid-afternoon. As the evening grew later and the temperatures dropped, the wind began.
Our house sits up on a hill and we are surrounded by natural forest. We have no yard or lawn to speak of. It is all natural terrain. When the wind blows through the trees it is loud. By the time I went to bed, the wind was loud and roaring. We could hear ranches being tossed about.
My husband is not usually bothered by the sound. He loves a fan or an air cleaner running, but I prefer it to be quiet. Tonight it is not quiet. I can hear small branches hitting the roof and the sound of the wind moving through the trees echoes throughout the house. Our bedrooms are upstairs which puts us closer to the branch level of the trees.
The wind became so loud I got up and opened the shades, thinking the trees must be whipping about but they were gently swaying instead. It all sounds much stronger than it is due to the wind tunneling through the trees.
I could not help but remember when we lived in Florida and experienced three hurricanes in one season relatively close together. The eye of the first storm, Charlie, rolled through at night about 9:00 pm. It was loud and so many huge live oak trees were pulled up by the roots. This sound reminds me of that night, but the strength of this wind is nothing in comparison. Our current winds are gusting to 20 mph. But it is loud and sounds menacing.
I remember times in the Valley when winter snow storms would come. The wind made it hard to heat the house so my step-mom and I tacked quilts in the open doorways so we could keep the heat confined to one room and stay warm.
Years before when I was first married, we lived a short time with my husband’s parents in an old farmhouse. I still recall one winter storm lying in bed and watching the snow come in through the cracks in the clapboards of the house. It’s funny now. It seems like another lifetime ago and another version of me.
When I read Byron Katie’s book “Loving What Is” I remember being moved by what she said about the wind. I found this excerpt online:
”After I woke up to reality in 1986, people often referred to me as the woman who made friends with the wind. Barstow is a desert town where the wind blows a lot of the time, and everyone hated it; people even moved from there because they couldn’t stand the wind. The reason I made friends with the wind – with reality – is that I discovered I didn’t have a choice. I realized that it’s insane to oppose it. When I argue with reality, I lose – but only 100 percent of the time. How do I know that the wind should blow? It’s blowing!” [1]
Maybe it is time I make friends with the wind and try to sleep again.
[1] Katie, Byron. “Friends With The Wind.” Awakin.org, Awakin.org, http://www.awakin.org/read/view.php?tid=307.
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