Storm warnings always excite me.
When the weather woman starts talking about heavy winds off the gulf, wild thunderstorms around 2 p.m., possible highway flooding and the disappearing sun, I always think: “It’s time for a fast walk.” Yes, I be crazy.
I suppose my weather addiction started when I was a little girl with my nose pressed against the bedroom window. I remember climbing up on the bed, pulling myself up to the high windows, and loving to watch all the storms that passed over our tiny house in big Bend, Wisconsin. If my memory is correct I was always the first of the four of us Radish kids to zip out the door to go play in whatever was going on out there.
There’s a big whopper blowing in this afternoon and I just got back from my fast-paced stroll to the park and back. The palms are already bending, the water in the canals is up really high, and the clouds are forming faster then I can type.
I suppose a walk in the wind could be a metaphor for striding through all the storms in life. There’s no sense waiting for the sky to clear up – sometimes it’s exciting when you’re out there, bucking the gale force winds, getting pelted by tiny balls of ice, and pulling leaves out of your hair. I’d hate to think I missed a really good storm.
Embracing the quiet is good too, don’t get me wrong here, but a walk in the wind is pretty amazing too. I saw two white pelicans, a string of clouds floating across the sky that looked like a white fluffy train, the dark storm miles and miles away pushing steadily toward my end of the world and for an hour that’s all that mattered.
When I got back home all the phone calls I have been waiting for still hadn’t arrived, the bathroom was still dirty, and the last five pages of the next chapter are still waiting for me.
And I could care less. When I bent over to start working, a little bug popped out of my hair, and when I blew my nose I could smell wind on my fingertips.
I hope it starts to rain soon. I may get in two walks today.