I’m currently lazing in bed, sick tissue at the ready, listening to the most majestic wind outside my window. The shades, pulled down to soften the sunlight, undulate against the window and there’s a subtle whooshing, not unpleasant, letting me know that the world is breathing and all is well, all is well. It’s very slightly chilly, in that bracing, invigorating way, and with the covers pulled to my chin just so, I’m a cat in window seat sun.
Again I watch the curtain waft like a bellows, making its shhhhhh music and I think of the hawk riding the canyon air, the purple-tipped flowers, even the rattlesnakes and the wolf. The limes toppling from the tree, the pebbles baking in the sun, the fairy garden’s ballooning petals, the creek rushing through it all.
The creek. On it goes, straight to the sea, a blue twinkle if I look just right. The rain churns it to egg white, makes the water gargle and spit; but for now? Today? It’s a mirror. Smooth and calm, taking its time. Yet on it goes, whispering all the while to the hawk and the flowers, to the snakes, the wolf, the limes, the magic pebbles, and most especially to the girl in her bed, listening for the most majestic wind outside the window.