the sirocco is a wind pattern in africa and europe that dries out the sahara and makes the mediterranean cold and damp. wind has been on my mind of late: it's been a constant feature of life here in the nation's capital of late. the identical bookends of my monday was a whisper from the man as we awoke, then again as we drifted off to sleep: "windy." i haven't been able to wear my hair down outside in days.
wind is funny in its casual, reckless and random destructive power. all over town, some signs and newspaper boxes are blown over, while others stand next to them untouched. some branches break; others remain. wind is without prejudice. it just blows, and if it touches you or not, well, whatever. it totally does not care.
wind also forms the basis for just untold metaphors for chance and carelessness in life. call me the breeze. forrest gump, floatin' along all accidental-like (and that feather, which was REALLY bad CGI in retrospect). against the wind. blowin' in the wind. dust in the wind. winds of change, the wind cries mary, blah, blah, blah. if anything, i find wind to be less of a metaphor and more of a constant. i mean, hell, what's more constant than change?
the french have a saying: plus ce change, plus c'est la meme chose. the more change, the more of the same thing. so wind might be random, altering things in its path. but hell, that's just the course of everyday life. what's so careless about that?
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