April 7, 2017—There she blows.
Heavy winds all night and this morning. Scattered power outages. In the long run it cannot be cheaper to keep electric and phone lines on poles than to bury them where they are far less likely to be damaged. Underground you only have to protect them from some zealous man on a back-hoe.
At one point this morning I watched a kestrel driven sideways by the wind as it gamely strove to reach the far side of the nearby building. There it could drop down out of the gale and try finding breakfast. Two crows struggled in the air, then wearily dropped into some trees. Smaller birds are staying hidden or near the ground. One bold male House Finch did come to our feeders which are protected from the strongest force of the wind.
This is typical of a spring storm, feeling like a set-back for green and growth. The sharp wind, the chill in the air, the rain that has seemed relentless for months. There are downbeaten daffodils, deflowered cherries, broken limbs scattered across the street and garden, gum tree seed balls rolling around like crazed marbles, tantrum-thrown. Last night the dog and I were out and cherry petals were strewn across the land. As they fell my wife likened them to falling tears. Such beauty treated in such a beastly way. The small, individual bits of nature are so fragile and ephemeral. Our memories of them last much longer than the reality.
Even the direction of the wind itself is shifty. First from west, then from east. The similarity to people and their politics is unmistakable. Things not heavy or tied down are driven to the wall, lodged next to a tree trunk, rolled into the corner. Nothing fragile survives. It is a scouring of the surface. The flexible and the firm will remain. The politics of wind.
Large living trees, be they oak or cedar, sway and wave, buck and bow. Weak or dead branches fly free. Leaf, needle, seed and bud all join the involuntary aerial detritus that will eventually find a resting spot out of the gale.