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?
