madness of the winds

After a meeting this morning with the designer of the annual literary anthology I'm editing (Chokecherries: A SOMOS Retrospective Anthology) I decided to spend an hour or so at Taos Cow in Arroyo Seco, before getting down to work at my desk. The sun was shining and it looked like a nice spring day had begun. I ordered a green tea and a scone and went to an outside table with my notebook. My plan was to do some writing practice which I have been sadly neglecting due to this blog and too much dawdling and knitting and worrying about various things I should probably let go of. I also wanted to finish rereading Julia Child's memoir My Life in France. The moment I sat down the wind started up. We're not talking gentle breeze here. Rather more like 50 mph gusts. They last all day and I think I may go mad since this is the third or so day of these not-unusual winds. My two-story house invites eerie wind sounds - squealings, whistlings, moanings. It makes me believe in the voices of the ancestors (as the Indians do) except that they aren't my ancestors. Mine are in Italy. Still, I've heard that people go crazy in France when the mistral comes and although I don't know if Taos spring winds have a name I think the effect is the same. Murder by southwest mistral perhaps? My dog hides out under the bed most of the day since his ears are more sensitive than mine and sometimes I feel like hiding out under the bed too until it passes. As I write, the apricot tree outside my window is tossing madly, the narrow space between the window frame and the closed pane in the living room is causing a high frequency buzzing sound, the dog is hiding, the garbage pail outside behind the adobe wall is careening around the yard wildly, and the new cashmere yarn that I started knitting a lace shawl with yesterday is calling to me.

blossoms on the trees
no gentle wind caresses
- coffeeshop abstract