In spring I often take an extended walk for the exercise. The schedule requires that this be done in the early hours, before anyone else is up for the day. Though the daylight hours are expanding, I set off in total darkness. There are mornings when I open my door and step into oblivion. I cannot see, and I cannot hear anything either, because a deafening blast is rocketing through the trees. I set out along a dark pathway, more aware of the wind than of my blindness.

The gale cannot reach me, down at the base of so many big trees, hiding in a deep river valley. The wind sings overhead, not bothering anything at my level. It does engage the highest limbs of the pines, and I can feel (and eventually see) that it has stripped away many small branches that lie in the path. As my eyes adjust, I try to pick up the wild dancing of the upper limbs. They hang on for dear life.

Such a wind has a voice of its ownóa thundering roar that overwhelms all other impressions of the morning. It is a sustained rush, an ocean of air on the move. It is part of a weather system on the scale of the entire continent, not just our little region. How many trees will succumb to this wild force? How much dust will be raised? Will the house withstand this screaming gale? Will I be able to keep my feet when I reach the open fields?

When I climb out of the valley, the wind takes a clear shot at me, and I realize exactly how sheltered I have been. My walk is the staggering of a drunkard.

Daylight slowly infiltrates as I retreat to the woods, and it catches me brooding. Beneath a wind of this magnitude, you cannot think small thoughts.

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Forest Lake Times
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880 SW 15 St.
Forest Lake, MN 55025
651-464-4601
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