What would you like me to talk about today?
The weather? Are you sure? I didn't even know you liked the ones I wrote about the weather. You don't want a library one, or drinks with Bob Dylan?
Really, the weather? How about one of those ones where I have a dialogue with the reader, but I do all the talking for you?
Just the weather. Okay. That's fine.
Today was windy.
Yes, I can wait while you get a snack and make yourself comfortable. To be frank I could use the time to collect my thoughts.
So, it was windy out today.
More dramatic? Sure, don't worry, but I've got it covered now. No more interruptions or it might throw me off.
You absolutely do not need to apologize.
So, where were we?
Right. It was windy.
Ah, but what a strange and wild wind.
There was chaos in the air. The sky went to the blue last seen before the Industrial Revolution, jewel blue, all pure and indescribable. Branches flung to the ground. Birds cowered.
We were under a wind warning. What's a wind warning? I don't know. I read it on the Internet. The weather service said so. It may be the last thing the weather service does before the Republicans defund them. Get your own weather!
I had the right clothes and the right hat. But who can understand the wind, especially the wild wind. This was no normal wind. All would be calm, like Christmas Eve. And then the sound of a jet engine would come tearing through the sky. "What is that roar?" I would ask. And then only after the sound rose long and slow the wind would hit. You could not predict from where. Blowing me forward? Or back? Left, right, I cannot say from time to time. I can only stagger and toddle on.
I walked out onto the Franklin Avenue Bridge. The lamps were full of water from yesterdays storm and puddles swirled in their globes. Over the river the wind can blow so hard it will freeze your face numb in ten steps. But here we were on the windiest day of the year and there was nothing. It was windless and still. The silence was pure. I made it two thirds across the Mississippi River like it was a day of utter calm, deep winter, and then, like a madness, the wind struck. I was almost thrown to the ground. I sailed. I leaned. And though I moved forward it was no longer anything like walking.
Later that day at the library the wind, taking two of our heavy steel frames glass doors like sails, ripped them on their hinges and savaged them so badly we had to bind them up and force lock them. We were surrounded by howls. As power outages flickered through the cities we wondered at strange crashes and roars. And all we could do was revel in disaster.
Is this the kind of thing you meant?
It was my pleasure.