Trees Sway, Walking in the Wind is Difficult

A windstorm swept across the hill country the other night, leading me to prowl the yard listening to each tree. My youngest child tells me he knows all their sounds in the wind; the high whistle made by the desert willows, the low moans from the Texas mulberry. 

When it became too strong, I hid in a dark alcove and made this recording. Faint sounds of wild geese navigating the storm. 

Title is from the Beaufort wind scale, 7. Moderate gale. 

The Phantom Arrives Upon A Storm

Autumn, 1990. Not long before Halloween. I dreamed that I was walking to the mailbox at the end of our road. It was after 6 and the air was violet. Night was about to fall.

A fierce wind kicked up and blew my hair all around. I paused at the corner where our street met the main road and looked out toward the horizon. A storm was approaching from the west. I shivered. The wind was cold.

The sky was darkening by the second, but I didn't move. There was an ominous feeling, and as I looked at the clouds I knew that there were things in them, strange and otherworldly things moving in with the weather.

"The phantom arrives upon the storm"  I said, to no one in particular. The wind began to howl.

When I woke up, a cold wind was battering my windows. I wondered (still wonder, really) if the phantom hadn't arrived after all.

Twilight Rainbow

Summer twilight, after a storm.

Witchy Weather

Recently, I went out to the cemetery where my ancestors are buried, to leave an offering and ask their advice. I'd been seeing such a falling apart of things, a rapid decay of the world around us, that surely they would have something to say about it.

If the world is falling apart, the cemetery was no exception. While the place had changed little in the 150 years previous, it had taken a sudden turn for the worse. Sinkholes had appeared, gravestones toppled by their own weight, statues and vases broken beyond repair. Even many of the enamel portraits marking the graves as seen here had fallen apart completely. It did not look like the work of vandals, but a sudden, unexplained deterioration.

After leaving my offerings, I walked around while awaiting an answer or a sign. I tidied up the best I could, replacing broken tiles and angel's wings. In the west corner, a sandpiper ran down the mounds of dirt, fluting wildly. We are far from the shore, so this was a surprise. I thought it must have a nest there it was trying to protect, but when I tried to investigate, the bird began to make such a noise and flail around so that I gave in and followed. Afterward, I remembered how my husband had once dragged me away from that same corner many years ago, having been overcome by the feeling he must get me away from there immediately

When the sign came, it was a little hard to understand. It was definitely the sign, but what did it mean? I took a couple of days for it to click.Then I understood, much more than I ever realized.

Today I went out to work the spell, in the bright and sunny afternoon. It was a simple spell, of course, because that is the way my ancestors worked. It was so hot and dry that I watered the plants first, and wetted down the area I was working. The ground was as dry as a bone and beginning to crack. Such is the way of things at the edge of the desert.

I was just finishing when the storm blew up, with a black sky and howling wind, so fast I barely had time to gather my things and get the laundry in before it was soaked. I rushed in to check the weather report, but I already knew what it was. There'd only been a 10% chance of rain. You might think a storm coming up during a spell might be a bad omen, but I know my ancestors and I know me. No, it was a roar of approval, a sign that it had worked just the way it should.

The map bore out my theory. According to the time-lapse radar, the storm had developed suddenly, just about the time I'd started, just over the south side of the county line. Right over the cemetery where my witchy forebears reside.

Just a few minutes later, the sky was sunny again, and ground was no doubt thankful for its brief drenching. As for me, I was delighted. It's always nice when the old folks come to call.

Rain Lilies

 

After the rain, the rain lilies come.

 

Storm Night

Early in the day, the wind blew hot and cold gusts and whistled close to the ground. But it was long after that, after nightfall, that the storm finally arrived.

Hurricane Musings

My teenage son and I sat on the edge of the lawn and watched the storm roll in. I said it was coming slow, 4 miles an hour. Walking speed.

My son said, musingly, what if there was a man at the center of the storm...no, a demon...what if there was a demon at the center of the storm and the demon was walking?

I laughed, because I'd had the exact same thought. Like mother, like son. We've read a lot of comic books, we have. But we both got a little chill, thinking about it.

The things that go through your head while waiting for a storm.

Rising Storm

It's bloody hard, being depressed. It's work. You push through each day, you slog, you muddle, you barely remember a thing, except that it was hard.

I feel like a drunk, promising to be sober tomorrow. Except it's happiness. Tomorrow, I promise, I'll be happy tomorrow. But it doesn't happen, and another tomorrow comes and goes, with no change.

Depression steals your life. It drains it away, You keep hoping for your life to start again, but you can't see how because of the fog in your head, the fatigue, the vague but unnerving certainty that something somewhere is terribly wrong.

Depression is like sodden gray clouds in the mind, broken wires, communication lines lost in the rising wind.
Storms, at least, will pass, but depression feels like an eternal forecast:
forever and ever, nothing but rain..