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Like a lion

March 2nd, 2004 · No Comments

March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. It’s the first day of March. I get up and go out the door for a run.

The wind is blowing. The wind turns the sky into gray swirls like the girls fingerpaintings. The wind turns the pine trees into happy Pentecostals clapping and swaying, lifting hands in hosannas. The wind changes commuters into warriors: bowing heads, buttoning coats and pushing forward into the cold.

And the wind changes me into a girl. I love the feel of it on my face. How it carries my hair. How it feels when I breathe, filling my lungs as I laugh . How the wind turns and twists my hair, a wild stylist who disregards whatever I’ve tried to do. It touches my face. It teases me. It opens my eyes.

I love running into the wind. Feeling its force. Pushing against it. Playing with its power. Letting go and yielding to its desire.

The girls want to fly kites. They’ve been asking me. This day could be a good one. Once the girls wanted to do it, but the kites couldn’t get up off the lawn. I try to explain to them: some things need wind to soar.

I see an eagle in the sky. It flies, flapping its wings, dark and long. Then it catches the current. The eagle rides, letting the wind take it on a flight, a journey, wherever it wants to go.

I like lambs. But I also like a lion.

Tags: journal