The Song Of The Wind, The Heat Of A Hawk, and A Great Kiss.

To say that it’s cold out today will make some people laugh. It’s just under fifty degree right now and I suspect that in some places of America and Canada, not to mention Asian climates, fifty degrees would be a nice balmy day. The wind is blowing, and again, it’s all a matter of perspective. Honestly, I like being outside in the wind and the cold. It speaks to me.

Down here in South Georgia days when the temperature is down, the humidity is down, and the wind is blowing, the sky is usually clear of clouds, and it is just so today. Crystal clear skies blaze from horizon to horizon without a cloud anywhere to be seen. I can feel the heat of the sun creeping through my jacket just as the wind steals the warmth from my face and hands. It’s a curious blend of feelings, a personal thermocline as it were, and I like it. It’s one of those now moments that seem to suspend time, like a great kiss. I close my eyes and lean into it, and sink into the sensations of warmth, coolness, and the feel of the wind, raw and hungry against my skin.

I hear things in the wind that other people do not. I’ve tried to explain it, I’ve tried to describe it, and I’ve tried to replicate it but I suspect that it’s become more a function of what I expect than reality now. Or maybe, just maybe, I do hear things that no one else does. It’s like the static sound coming from Jupiter that you can pick up on AM radio late at night, if you know where to look. I hear all sorts of odd songs in the wind, and no one else has ever told me they hear the same songs. But it’s like a great kiss; you cannot explain it and you cannot ever fully write it down so that someone feels it with you.

When you kiss someone it’s not enough they are there with you, no,  they have to be in that moment with you. They’ve got to hear the same song, they have to feel the same wind, and there has to be a personal thermocline between warmth and heat that separates that moment of that kiss from the fire that might come next or perhaps just a steady buzz of gracing the edge of love.

There’s a hawk gracing the edge of vision far above me, soaring, wings outstretched, and the bird is riding thermals of a much different nature, but then again, perhaps the nature of heat is all just the same. Who knows, really who amongst us knows what the hawk is feeling? I stand with my face to the sun and the wind, feeling the power of one and the song of the other, and who is to say the hawk is doing anything different than just that? We humans did not invent flight, we did not invent song, we did not invent the winds, and we most certainly didn’t invent the power that comes with a great kiss either.

To stand in the sun, with the wind, and the hawk far above, and to have that realization is an incredible feeling that I might have just explained quite poorly.

Take Care,

Mike