The wind is very eerie. It reminds me of Edgar Allen Poe and all his disturbing stories. Dreary and drab and sad and scary. Birds, ticking clocks (or was that a heart?). All bad stuff.
Some regions routinely get wild winds. They have names like the Santa Ana winds or Shamal, Sirocco or Chinook. Almost sounds romantic. Almost. (We call ours “wind.” No one said we were creative here!)
We’ve had some extremely windy weather lately. It’s not typical for a wind to hang around like a tired old showgirl shaking her stuff long past her prime.
The wind is hard on the flowers. They shred and droop. (Can’t say I blame them. I droop too).
It’s hard on me. I wouldn’t do well in an area that had a lot of winds. Way too melancholy.
I don’t like the noise. I worry about birds getting blown into houses (my house) and trees toppling (on my house).
It has to do with ion sensitivity. Some people are sensitive to gluten or lactose. Not me. Nothing that easy. Ion sensitivity causes tension and irritability. (I know it’s so hard to believe that I get tense and cranky!)
Over the weekend it was sunny, warm and humid. And windy. Almost gale force winds.
The plants on the porch blew over. The flag was all twisted on its pole. I was all twisted on my pole (metaphorically).
I was agitated. Not peaceful. I paced.
I had tried all the things I do to get peaceful. Read. Write. Watch cooking shows (about menus I never make). I even consumed a 500 calorie Starbucks Frappuccino. (I go with food before exercise. Don’t judge.) Still no peace (but there is some guilt!).
I should join the cats under the bed. Curl up in a ball and come out for dinner!
Today is supposed to be wind-free. Warm and sunny they say. If that happens there will be some dancing going on here.