A windy spring day.
Windows and doors are open.
Large books prop open the doors,
Light airy objects that will blow away weighted down.
The wind whips the curtains through the air
alternately sucking them up snug against windowscreens.
I sit in my soft chair reading my book on light and color
while the wind blows my hair in spirals around my face.
The wind brings the fragrant scent of the magnolia tree
into every crevice of my home.
It cools this hot skin from
time spent in the morning sun.
It billows the edges of my blouse caressing me.
And the sound….is a storm without rain
but with force and fury
that makes me feel alive,
that stirs up every desire
and dilates my eyes wide and dark
to draw you in when you struggle through the door, fighting the wind.

for Phoebe, remembering a conversation