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Retired publishing executive ecstatic with the idea of spending most of his time on the coast of Maine

Monday, July 21, 2008

Which Way the Wind Blows

A season-shifting kind of day: definitely summer this morning, wind out of the south, warm and so humid that a couple of minutes of playing with the dog produced more than enough sweat for me and ennui for her; then the wind shifted to the north and east late morning, and it was suddenly cool enough on the deck for me to seek the sunny corner where we usually huddle in September; by the time I started my daily afternoon project (window washing today) the wind was back in the south, with attendant results.

I would hardly notice such changes in the city, where the wind needs thunderstorms and blizzards to get publicity. Here it's a significant fact of life. We have no windows on the north side of the house; there are storm windows all along the east side; a couple of the firs tilt lovingly toward us and will have to come down some day; the National Weather Service breaks into radio broadcasts (even Beethoven, who doesn't really mind) with storm warnings; wind direction determines the take-off and landing patterns at the nearby *&^%$# airport. In the country we live much closer to, and are more aware of, the personalities of the winds, which used to be gods with names and adventures, but now are homogenized by the headline writers and marketers into slogans - winds of change, war, jihad, dawn, praise, and all manner of Four Winds seaside hotels.

Oh, and we don't need weathermen either.

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