Even though I know better I still think there is some connection between farmers planting fields and wind. It seems the moment all the grain and potatoes are in the ground and the dirt is all fluffy and loose the wind comes roaring out of the southwest and blows for days.
That fine topsoil is picked up and blasted through the air. Sometimes Interstate 15 has to be closed for the blowing dust and danger to high profile vehicles.
At the same time bushels of flying-saucer elm tree seeds take off, scatter through the air and stack in drifts everywhere.
Then, when the air is full of dirt and elm seeds, we get rain. It doesn’t rain water, it rains mud. And the elm seeds stick in the mud on my car. As soon as I wash my car it all starts over again.
I’d take photos of my muddy car and the elm seed drifts but it’s raining AND blowing at the moment. So I’m blogging.
Okay, enough ranting. Here’s Robert Frost’s take on a windy day. I was thinking of it as I took my morning walk:
NOT OF SCHOOL AGE
Around bend after bend,
It was blown woods and no end.
I came to but one house,
I made but the one friend.
At the one house a child was out
Who drew back at first in doubt,
But spoke to me in a gale
That blew so he had to shout.
His cheek smeared with apple sand,
A part apple in his hand,
He pointed on up the road
As one having war-command.
A parent, his gentler one,
Looked forth on her small son
And wondered with me there
What now was being done.
His accent was not good.
But I slowly understood.
Something where I could go--
He couldn't but I could.
He was too young to go,
Not over four or so.
Well, would I please go to school,
And the big flag they had--you know
The big flag: the red--white--
And blue flag, the great sight--
He bet it was out today,
And would I see if he was right?