The wind was roaring westward
thru Tijeras Canyon
that cold March midnight....
Blowing a gale (it seemed),
as it was wont to do.
The wind was playing symphonies...
Big dramatic ones, it seemed,
with all the help it could find:
The soprano wind chimes on the
front porch, were being
answered by the deep-throated
bass chimes on the patio
in back...
The Rose of Sharon's limbs were
brushing our bedroom window...
In the driveway, a trash can lid
was blowing, sliding, and clanking
all around on the cement....as if
waiting for the percussionist
to arrive and bring some order.
Giving all this---structure and rhythm
was my big old mulberry tree
branch, up there, regularly bumping
the attic wall....with a
"BUMP, BUMP, BUMP, BUMP."
Somewhere in the house, a window
was open a fourth inch...and
it produced a sad wailing sound of
a weeping woman....moaning,
and adding to the symphony,
Whether faulty, or designed that way,
our various roof vents tended to twist
and turn and add their creative
noises during windy storms...as if
they just couldn't be still.
And here came the SPLAT! SPLAT!
SPLAT! big wet raindrops,
hitting the windows, the walls,
and the roof.
Suddenly I was wide awake...and
wondering if all was okay...
I was caught up in this exciting
drama that was taking place...
like it was the
Creator's Own Symphony.
The Moaning Woman of the Wind,
somewhere in a house window,
fascinated me...she had
my attention....
Slipping into my masculine bunny-
rabbit houseshoes, and my
soft fuzzy striped robe (which the
Beloved Editor bought for me),
I decided I'd better check on things.
Particularly the attic room!
Up the stairs I went, and I found the
Moaning Woman---she was the
attic window, slightly open at
the bottom.
Oh, if I could only sing with such pathos
and feeling as she! What emotion!
The wind was putting its whole heart
into this storm.
With wind, I've decided, it's an ego-thing.
The wind knows it can't be seen...
So it has to show us what it can do.
And it has an artistic side...
It was cold up in my attic...
and there was my 3/4 camp bed---
With a soft pillow; several nice old quilts
were folded at the foot.
How it happened, I don't recall... BUT
the next thing I knew, my rabbit
houseshoes were sticking out
from under the bed, and I was covered-
up and cozy under all those quilts...
All the sounds of the symphony
heretofore described were going on,
with some new ones I couldn't even
identify...
The rain now was pouring onto the roof
right over my head....and as I got
cozier and cozier and sleepier and
sleepier, I thought of Wylie's
mother, who once wrote: "I've always
loved a good storm."
And the last thing I remember, is
hearing the far-off "ARF, ARF, ARF"
of the neighbor's loud pesky little dog:
....and hoping he was under his porch...
..............and dry.
********30*******
BY MIL
3/29/14
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