I’m listening to the howl of yet another prairie wind challenge my window from outside.
LOVE that sound! Love its calling out of all that’s within. Love that I’ll be leaving shortly to be out in it, like all the other times before. From my first memories of being in a prairie wind in Norman, Oklahoma.
I was about seven and standing in the front yard of our little white clapboard farmhouse on the hill. Sheep pen to the left, horse pasture to the right and me alone with my imagination. I was a latchkey kid before there was such a term.
Mickey Mouse Club and Rin Tin Tin were TV shows that kept me company after school once I was ready to go inside. But there’d be that wind stirring everything around and in me. I loved the wind. It made me feel connected and empowered. Like I could wisk away to other places if I wanted. Escape to where movies were made. Maybe I could be a Mouseketeer and become friends with the others. Learn to dance, already knew how to sing. The options were endless and possible. That’s how the wind made me feel.
Just as a butterfly struggles to stay free on the wind that carries it, I stood into the wind and imagined the places it could take me if I had butterfly wings. In a way, it did.
The wind’s lift to my spirit kept me aloft throughout that alone time after school. It healed the family realities of that moment, and kept me feeling part of something bigger, more possible and promising.
In that yard on the hill, I had found a friend to keep me company before my TV shows.
The wind knew, then blew.