Poetry, even if it is old, is a good start. I am a religious man, and there will be talk of that in here, hopefully in poem form, for I find that I like poetry. It has a way of speaking that moves like the wind, you do not know where it will go, or whom it will touch, you cannot becon it, or command it, and any attempts to channel it fail, in other than those small ways that keep us warm, or keep us cool, or grind our grain, for you do not know when the wind comes, or when it goes.
Here at home, the wind is strong, at times. I have been at the sawmill and had to duck boards it ripped from the bed and sent tumbling through air. Not small boards either. I recall walking to a pay phone (in a place that had no cell reception), eyes closed against the ceaseless barrage of dust, body bent forward against the wind, spitting out gravel and bits of stone that managed to get passed pressed lips, working so hard to make headway, only to open my eyes and see I had not gone far. More effort was required. The wind was strong.
It is so different than driving in a car, or living in a house. But it is a beautiful reminder to be sitting down to dinner and see the chandelier sway with the beating of the wind just beyond.
I love video games. It has taken me a long time to learn why, though I have asked that question of myself and those I have played with for years. It is good therapy, and we forget that in our talk of the evils of video games. They help some people sleep well, oddly enough. Not to unlike the wind, no?
