This Wind

Madness at the window this morning. If madness is a breaking of order then madness is at my window this morning.  The wind grabs at the house then runs away only to return a few minutes later.  It seems hungry for something in the wall.  All around the house it dances though trees whose partnership in one moment seems willing and in the next not at all. Or maybe the falling branches are simply garments flung aside in wild abandon.  I cannot tell.  I do not know their language.

Blown snow is pushing upward rather than falling to the ground in what would seem an attempt to re-join the cloud once called home.  So much of what is wild runs from us. Maybe this snow has embraced that rebellion as well. Che Snow.

The wind, however, will not be threatened by the likes of us.  Vigorous past all I've known to come through this valley,  this wind.  I've been persuaded by the educations of modern life to de-mystify the wind, the rain, snow. Our  current goose-stepping gadget-wrapped gods prefer cognitive processes over all others and would have us laugh away the nonsensical myths of other times, other minds.  I'm not so sure about that this morning.

Zeus, I remember, would take elemental form from time to amorous time.  Perhaps an Io has caught his eye today. Perhaps he is moving through the squall of snow that has appeared  in the lower valley.  No longer moving upward the snow now flies through this squall in every direction at once in what seems a defiance of all natural law.

What I am seeing:  is it a law-maker for the new climate? a law-breaker of the old? Or something simply to be understood as the powerful chaos inhabiting all natural order?  A two and two refusing the four we have insisted must follow?

In that equation we have created much suffering for the maze-trapped rat. By that equation we have enslaved and become enslaved. Our goose-steppers are as cruel as any that have gone before them but outside my window a living wind denies them power. I myself may be powerless in the face of our almighty number but this is not and in that not I am set free.

In that not, dance with me.  We'll thrash and spin.  We'll spit and laugh. We'll toss off our clothes impervious to any number that may come our way other than the one that keeps the beat.  Dance with me.  The long rumored music of the spheres has come.