The wind has been blowing here for days. Not the worst I’ve seen it blow, mind you, but still, I’m getting plenty tired of it. This morning when I got up I wanted to open the patio door and shout to the sky, Enough already! Except it was blowing so hard I couldn’t push the door open even a crack. Yesterday I did manage to go out (the front door) and fill up the birdfeeders, just in case. That’s a job that takes some dexterity, and my exposed fingers went numb in seconds. A few goldfinches were hanging around, and once I hung the thistle feeder back up, they made a valiant attempt to get some seed. The wind blew back their feathers (ouch!) and spun them around the perch pegs like whirlygigs on a stick. It didn’t look very easy or comfortable. They have't been back today. It’s just as well. I’ve decided I don’t like where the feeders are hung; too many places for the local prowling cats to ambush them, but with everything outside going sideways, it’s just too difficult to move them now. Besides, even the cats are indoors lately.
There really isn’t a place on my property to hang feeders that is sheltered from the winter winds, except possibly in the front yard. But in front there isn’t a place to anchor strings of yellow tape to keep the birds safe from the window glass. I’m not sure I want yellow tape on my front windows anyway. If they hung out in that part of the yard,the birds would just perch and poop all over my pretty freshly-painted front porch, so…scrap that idea. There are several other outside things I want and need to do. I bundled up last night to take the recycling bins out to the road, pulled my tuque down tight, but the wind still ripped it off. I caught it just before it went totally airborne. Tonight the garbage goes out. All my containers have stout clothesline ropes on them so I can tie them to the mailbox post. Otherwise, when the workers emptied them in the early morning hours before I'm up, they would blow away. This morning when I dashed outside to take this photo of the spray icicles on the downed branch, I pulled the tuque on again, and then wrapped a long scarf around and behind my head. I caught my reflection in the window. I looked like a cross between a Muslim woman and Marley’s ghost. I need to repair some of the ripped yellow tape across the back window. When it flutters, it keeps the flying birds from hitting the windows, but in this wind, it’s not fluttering, but getting torn into streamers and tied in knots! I want to wrap some tinsel garland on my rural mailbox and hang some jingle bells on it. Impossible until it’s calm.
Still it blows. I feel like Vincent Van Gogh as I once saw him portrayed in a biopic, driven a little cuckoo-cuckoo by the incessant Mistral winds. Vincent, I feel your pain!
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.