We have had wind. Major wind. Days and nights of wind.
My own enormous, 100-year-old cedars look just like Kellum's in the photo above. Trouble is, I can't get far enough away to photograph them. If they were palms, they'd look like these.
The meteorologists are actually calling it "wind gusts", which totally diminishes the force and strength of it. In my mind, a gust is similar to the puffs of the Lamaze breathing technique. This is more the rip-your-hair-off-your-head-by-the-roots wind. The kind that if you're facing it, you have trouble inhaling. It's not steady, it comes and goes like like an alternating current that periodically changes direction. Maybe that qualifies it as a gusty.
It's mighty. It's invisible. But evidence of it is visible everywhere. Bazillions of needles ripped from the pines and redwoods and yes, cedars, are forming mounds all around the house. Smallish dead branches have been torn from the limbs of their parents during the night and in the morning, are scattered on our road. And the leaves, oh, the leaves! What is this - autumn all over again?
I was with a group of women a few evenings ago, and we got to talking about the weather, and found that all of us were experiencing effects of the wind. Suddenly we're sneezing, sniffing, clearing our throats, and reaching for the Visene. None of us has ever had allergies before. But the wind is filled with things that are invisible.
And also, things that are visible. Like the day I was hiking on the trail and the wind was blowing the cottonwood fluff everywhere - like snow. Honestly, it was snowing fluff.
The good news is, I'm told, people aren't typically allergic to cottonwood fluff itself.
But the wind isn't the only thing that is mighty and invisible. Here is my mighty amaryllis, the second stalk to bloom with four flowers on it. (The fourth flower is in the back. And over on the right, another stalk with yet-to-open blooms.)
You may think I'm blind to say these are invisible. Mighty, yes; invisible? No. But they have an invisible secret, a possibility I never knew until today. Within them, they hold beautiful dye. Dye with which I can paint!
I was moving the amaryllis out of the WIND when I noticed the first stalk to bloom had three wilting blossoms. Two were collapsed, the third, above, is not so bad. As I removed the two collapsed blooms, the fluid of their color stained my hand...and I thought: this is so wet, I wonder if I can paint with it?
Well, yes. Yes you can. You can paint with amaryllis blooms.
You have to understand: I was so excited because, you see, I put my art materials away at the start of April. Determination, with no distractions from taxes. From academic coaching. From volunteer work. From social events. And I've got more to do without distraction. But this was like a heaven-sent gift, invisible and mighty, and I grabbed some printer paper and began to create. The wilted bloom was the brush, already filled with paint. It was brief but intense. Here's one amaryllis bloom painting.
Of course, it is a wind-blown woman. Like me.
I love my regal, mighty amaryllis blossoms. I wish them a long life - but also, I look forward to their demise because I'll have more paint opportunities and how much fun is that?
The wind and my amaryllis. Mighty and mostly invisible.