Yesterday Truett and I took a drive to Lake Butler to find the lake. I was hoping to take photographs of birds at the lake. But, along the drive to Lake Butler, I was aware of how strong the wind was. I literally had to keep both hands gripped onto the steering wheel in order not to let the wind carry me off the road.
I never paid much mind to the wind until I moved to Fort White in 1973. Growing up, our children voices were louder than the sound of the wind blowing through the trees. Living in cities, honking horns and sirens drowned out the sound of the wind.
Yesterday plowed fields were being whisked across the country roads. I pulled off the road to photograph the wind . . . well, the effects of the wind. Grasses that usually stand as tall as soldiers waved and bent to the earth.
Spanish moss flew sideways instead of hanging straight down.
I love the sound of a strong wind. In 1973 I was sitting on a friend's outside stoop and that was the first time I heard the wind. I listened that day; and ever since I try to go outside when a strong wind is blowing. Mom and I sit on the front porch in the afternoons and watch the tree tops swirling and curling, bending and reaching when there are stong winds. I remind Mom, "Don't talk. Just to listen."
I love a good wind . . . but not always the effects of the wind.
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