We are the Fluid Wind

Wind touches the earth. Pushing a branch, and jiggling a leaf, sometimes to points of breaking both. Forcing an umbrella to push sideways against it, or a wing to twist to stay steady. Sending a jagged spore into a weightless path, riding an eddy to stop when touching the lee side of jagged bark. Lifting silt, and the occasional sand grain, to a sudden drop into a more stationary, windless pile. Forcing wind vanes to reveal its direction as a clue to prepare, only to abruptly switch position as a hidden cycle manifests itself. Or, on calmer days, filled with smells from afar, that satisfy or alarm, and push us in a new direction (salivating or holding our breath). We are in the wind, as fish are in water. It directs us to go, where we feel it tells us, happily or distressed. Its push moves us where we can’t avoid. We can't think without it. Within it, we live. Without it, we can't. We are the fluid wind.