or In Which We Wallow in Weather
Today. Such a light breeze, one of the rare, perfect kinds—not too hot or cold or strong, and faintly scented of honeysuckle. A wind to rest—no, to revel in.
Thursday. Comparative calm. A cool breeze from the northwest at 15 mph, the sky a vast arc of unbroken blue. Even for New Mexico, the sun is radiant. As I sit on the patio writing, a hummingbird lights in one of the desert olive trees. Today, we are all catching our breaths.
Wednesday. Fitful winds from the west, north, northwest; a fretful sky. The radio blathers excitedly about snow in the East Mountains, but here in town we only get a tight-fisted sprinkling of raindrops, like pennies flung resentfully at a beggar. Late in the afternoon the clouds begin to break apart, and the wisps at their edges go tumbling end over end. From their midst, suddenly, the moon takes shape.
Tuesday. Strong winds, holding steady at 25 mph, with gusts up to 50. They blow from the south, the garden's least protected side. By late afternoon even the sand cherries look beaten down. The desert olives bend from their waists, their upper branches sweeping in circles and figure eights.
The sky isn't any calmer. The cumulus clouds have shredded around their edges, the winds dragging them out of shape. I keep blinking, trying to bring them into focus, before realizing that the clouds themselves are blurry, like the vaguer sort of watercolor.
A glancing blow to the head—my 5'7” self has been hit by one of the topmost branches of the 12' tree. It is time to acknowledge that today, the patio is not a pleasant place to be.
Together, we sink into our haven of quietness and watch the wind.