wind

Tonight, feeling restless, I hit the streets of Elkton, hoping my rhythmic footsteps would shake the rubble in my head into some sort of order. It is a windy evening, 42 degrees, clouds orange and blue, streets empty. I love the wind. It is fingers in my hair, hands upon my face and clothing; it is intimate and unaffected, passionate and unreasoned, giving and self-sufficient. The wind in my hair takes me back to high school when my hair was long and girls would french braid it. It is truly wonderful to be touched. My gritty anxiety is blown away. My fear of ruining everything good in my life is lulled to sleep.