"The Hurrying Wind"

Now we have what Hal Borland calls "the hurrying wind." At night I wake and hear it and it sounds as if black stallions were galloping above the roof of the farmhouse.

Gladys Taber from The Book of Stillmeadow

I love the winds of March, as long as no tornado watches come with them.

Weather, all kinds of it, are fairly magnificent, don't you think?

Punishment to me would be living somewhere that sees every day the same, day after day. Although, I suppose some would call that paradise.

When I wake up every morning and raise my bedroom shades I look over to our neighbor's yard where his flagpole is. If Old Glory is whipping about in the wind, I take it as an auspicious sign. 

But if the flag were blowing about every day I would soon take it for granted. 

I fall into a rut too easily. I even enjoy a rut too much, I think. And that's not a bad thing most of the time. 

But I recognize that it can also become a trap. Sometimes I need life to shake me up a little, prod me out of my rut, make me examine my priorities. 

Hurry me along like the March wind.