Wind and Webs – Trajectory and Tradition

Each year in my town, the spider webs let go and the citizens experience the somewhat horrifying tradition of removing spider webs from every outside surface.  Cars, clothing, outside furniture – you get the picture.   We are not quite there yet, but the crazy amount of warm wind we have been having inspired a little writing.  Therefore – to the muse of wind and webs, I dedicate this somewhat random post.  Enjoy.


My only goal was to get away.  To move somewhere with more culture; somewhere with opportunity – a bigger population and shiny shop windows. Theaters and sidewalks and people that never sleep, I had assumed life would just take off from there.  A jet plane ascending into cotton candy clouds, outlining my name in the steam trail.

Not until I was solidly on that plane did I realize there was no landing gear –  No seat belts, no clearly mapped out trajectory; only endless clouds and the need to avoid the flocks of geese who might take the whole crazy mission down.

Reflecting now, I think I’ve been trying in one way or another to turn this plane around for years.  Not the time or age, but perhaps place and culture. Because – when I close my eyes I expect to hear the deafening roar of crickets accompanied by the occasional bullfrog.  I expect to hear the wind and let my mind drift casually along with it’s steady swish.  To dream under the stars.

Instead I battle the pollen filled, hot breeze which blows so incessantly that it drowns out all sense.  Santa-Ana-ish, anything-could-happen, and it seems to as the days get longer and patience feels strained.  Everything but grace splutters and spits from ever passenger.

A spider web of sanity built structurally strong is jostled and jumbled into a mess of knots – tossed so constantly that I give up and just hold on for the ride.

Ears ringing, I close my eyes and instead of crickets, the metallic hum of the neighbor’s air conditioning overwhelms my ears – punctuated only by the high clip of the dogs down the street.

However, in moments of practiced peace, when I close my eyes I still imagine I see those stars and the mountains silhouetted.  Practice peace hard enough and the smell of dusty earth with a hint of spring water seems to play around my nostrils, reminding me that the pollen filled, anything-could-happen-and-does wind, might be the same that will pass through the mountains in my memory.

Lord, give me the strength to have patience.  To forgive the winds of crazy – literal and metaphorical – and to be grateful for each cloudy opportunity.  After all, that wind may be the only thing filling the space beneath this jet plane’s wings.

At least I’ve got a front row seat; and for sure the world is round.

Thank God for good company in this journey.

Goodnight and Amen.