It is March now. In the laziest of months the prairie winds blow wild here, but in March they really let loose. Only a blue moon hurricane does worse. You have to develop a sort of tolerance for these winds, something my husband never seems to have done. Every year, he spits out, “that wind!” with a grimace and inflection that makes any cuss words unnecessary. He hates the way the afternoon winds kick up in the best of times, and especially when they blow hard in the transitional seasons.
Our winds can make the house rattle, they can send things not battened down halfway across a field. The chimney cap comes off with regularity.
But you can fly kites here, if you have a liking. And you can feel a cool breeze on those blasted July days when the city sits in its breathless dead humidity and heat.
Mornings can often be still. Not in March, though. March can blow a grown woman sideways if you let it. Spring storms are a’coming, with their first blasts still of a cold bluster, but I’m looking forward to those at the end of the month. The time when the unmistakeable warmth of those southeastern winds bring that balminess and scent of warm earth thawed and getting ready for April’s growth spurt.
It is then one can love the wind in its more kindly aspect.
