The wild goose

A band of strong thunderstorms blew through our valley yesterday evening. Wind... wind is a mystery to me. Wind whips things around and slashes on trees and roofs and things, and you get blown around like an autumn leaf...

I find strong winds unnerving; yet, there is something powerful and mysterious and exhilarating in their nature that pulls me to it... I harbor the spirit of the storm chaser in me—riding the air in my long skirts, dancing atop swirling clouds as if in a ballroom...

Child-like delightfully jumping up and down. Ridiculous. Laughing my lungs out; as if some invisible giant tickling me...

The gray sky opening and shutting its murky mouth, blowing strong winds over and over on top of my head... I look up, but cannot see a thing... dusty-wind glare obscuring my vision; yet, my mind is shut to the voices of the frightful heart.

A silly wild goose? Perhaps. Except, this was just a storm of winds of 60 mph... but can you imagine swirling masses of air that reach more than 300 mph?—like what happens in a tornado? Things would not be that fun then, would it?

…Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting over and over announcing your place in the family of things. (from Dream Work by Mary Oliver Wild Geese)