Women of the Wind

Feeling something between blue and blah today. The weather isn’t exactly unsettled, but a warm wind keeps rattling the front door,  playing pretend burglar in our otherwise quiet neighborhood.

I remember once, long ago, driving through the plains, might have been the Texas Panhandle, the entire time being accompanied by a shrieking, relentless wind, thinking that, if I lived here and had to face that sound every day, I would go mad.

And then we passed a house where a woman struggled, bent into the wind like a human cypress tree, hurrying towards her unpainted house, wicker laundry basket clutched in her hands, rushing across the Payne’s Grey landscape of an approaching storm.

 

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5 thoughts on “Women of the Wind

  1. Love the description. I have been there! My husband is from a place like that. I remember that wind blowing the hair combs and pins from my hair when we were at his grandmother’s graveside service–at a small rural cemetery in the middle of a pasture… nothing in sight, nothing to block the wind.

    Liked by 1 person

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