Windy city morning...

I lay in my bed of crisp white sheets. It is still dark and I am wakened by the wind pressing against the buildings and whistling through the windows. I lay listening to the wind and I can imagine that I am a deep forest with the wind swaying the trees overhead.. March, coming in like a lion, bringing with it a change that is felt like a current running through you.. Though the day has not yet begun, I know that people will wander down to the lake.. They will stand on the boardwalk and wander out onto the beach - to feel the sand beneath their shoes - not knowing what it is that moves them closer to the water... They will want to feel the wild warming wind push their bodies so that they have to lean into it... They will watch the waves high and crashing and move close enough to catch the feel of spray.. The wind will sound like a rushing train in their ears and have to shout to one another.. Faces twisted and forced to face the wind coming in off the grey angry lake, stiff legged and planting of feet in the damp sand.. After a minute or so of held breath and a solitary stance to defy the wind and also to greet it, they will turn away, faces red, eyes tearing.. They will reach for each other, hand in hand, or arms linked to walk stiltedly toward the safety of the boardwalk.

This city sits on a fat bellied slope of land that leans to a vast lake... Today the wind will try to push the lake violently further up onto the land, and we will go down to the shore - taking our turns to stare it down...

The light now creeps into my room and I can no longer imagine that I am in the woods just dreaming of the city. I am in the city, dreaming of the woods... And this wind is calling me to the shore..