Yes

It is an easy thing to do, on an Autumn afternoon, when the sky is bigger than you remember it ever being, and the sun, warm as it falls away toward Winter, is a thing that laughs at the wind and the tumult of the leaves ripping from the trees and the general discord of the season, to spend the day on the warm, serene side of the window watching the world shake itself loose outside and decide to nap and fold yourself in loud, vivid dreams and fill your head with the downy cotton of nappiness. It is all well and good but if it lasts too long you risk missing the smile and squint the sun and wind force your face into when you walk into them, while the clatterous music of dancing, bobbing leaves scuttles at your feet all around you.

And so groggy and sleepy-headed I let Duncan lead me to the park where, despite the rude nibble of the snow-scented wind, loud and insistent, I laughed and ran with him, held my arms out wide at my sides, unconcerned with witnesses to such dog-induced silliness, and felt my jacket pushed back tight against my body––flapping like excess skin under my arms and behind me––and imagined we'd leapt from a plane and felt both the sweet suck of gravity and the abuse and crush of the air against us as we moved down and back into the world to the safety of earth where we could run and jump and daydream some more.

Sometimes it takes wind and cold and a dancing dog to remind you what is real and important and what should be left behind on the safe side of a window.

“i thank god for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees & for the blue dreams of sky & for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes.” (e.e. cummings)

One with the Wind

A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.  (e. e. cummings)

I thought it would be a quick walk. I meant for that. I really did. I meant to take Duncan outside, perhaps to The Glen, just long enough to stretch his legs and feel the air on his face and against his open mouth, to let him taste the last of this day to save for some other time when he was sitting in the warm side of the window watching an afternoon pass without him. The night was dark with the sudden clouds that swept down on us from the north, raising the dust and prickly once-leaves and then bringing a thick, heavy snow which wanted to last but couldn't because the wind was simply too impatient for it and in far too great a hurry to rage unfettered across the open plains of Kansas or Nebraska. Surprisingly I, for once, agreed with the wind and wanted to rush and howl.

But once Duncan I were at the park, dark and blessedly free of any other souls, some force claimed us both, took command of our bodies and thoughts and scooped us up, driving us forward, against the screaming wind, pushing our cheeks back, shaping our mouths into maniacal grins and turning our eyes into squinting black points. The wind was terrible and fierce and as I stood in the center of the wide soccer field watching the cottonwoods and elms bend all around us, leaning at nearly impossible angles while Dunc darted madly back and forth among their trunks, a sense of celebration rose up in me, defiance and celebration and nothing in me wanted to return to the warmth of home or the rich, safe fragrance of the French onion soup simmering on the stove. I wanted to dance and run, and sometimes merely to walk but always to struggle. I wanted to listen as my calls for Duncan were pulled from my throat and ripped into shredded-silence across the field. The sting on my cheeks and in my eyes meant nothing, nor the cold sucking on the bones of my fingers. All that mattered was the roar and our passage through it.

Duncan was wild, galloping and rolling, snapping at the leaves that spun through the air between us, flung from their high branches, careening around our heads, winding around our ankles. The trees shifted and groaned as they bent toward us in stiff, straight-backed bows and I wondered how anything so tall and narrow could stand it and then I thought, how could they not? Why would anything want to ignore such graceful and feral calamity behind the veil and impotence of four walls when it could bend and dance under a sky-ravaged moon and test the mettle of its character?

Tonight we were free. Beautiful and wild and free. Tonight we were one with the wind.

Too Long

a wind has blown the rain away and blown
the sky away and all the leaves away,
and the trees stand. I think i too have known
autumn too long (e.e. cummings)

If only Autumn weren't such a schizophrenic bitch she'd be a much better time. It was warm and perfect all day; the air tasted somehow amber-scented and the light felt musical on my face. My job is far away from any windows and I was only able to steal quick moments on the west lawn of the college, watching the squirrels wrestle in the leaves, fighting over a piece of discarded hamburger bun. Far out in the field a group of friends gathered to play Ultimate Frisbee. As I watched them, all I could think about was getting home and not taking off my shoes, not resting a moment on the bed with the cats, but leashing up Duncan and going for another long walk through the neighborhoods east of Columbine. After last night's embarrassing and aimless wanderings I've felt the need to redeem myself by learning the streets and their strange, wandering routes. Unfortunately, 45 minutes before my weekend began, the skies were invaded by low, dark clouds and a fierce, unfriendly wind picked up which was not at all inviting to someone looking to take a long stroll with his dog. Duncan couldn't have cared less, of course. He only wanted to be outside. I think he knew I wasn't as enthusiastic as himself, which meant he had to prolong the walk by any means he could: inspecting every shrub and tree and bramble along our path, sniffing and rooting on the ground for the most minuscule sticks and twigs, peeing every hundred yards or so. He likes the wind, likes to turn his face into it and lap up whatever scent it brings his way. I, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to be inside where I could make dinner and dream of a warmer Saturday than tonight would presume.