The Wind and Me

"Bomb cyclone..."

I had never heard of that before. But a conversation with my brother, a high school teacher in Seattle, introduced me to this weather phenomenon. The powerful winds caused power outages throughout the city, and so his school was cancelled for the day. Somehow, "Bomb Cyclone Day" didn't roll off the tongue as smoothly as "Snow Day."

He told me it was a good thing because he was fighting a cold. His throat was sore. He wanted to spend the day drinking hot tea and catching up on some reading.

Our conversation ended...but my overactive imagination went wild.

It started with the line: The wind whipped wild through the willows and trees...

I repeated this over and over in my head (maybe out loud too) as I went about some tasks.

Soon, that line was joined by: I sat with my book, sipping hot tea. Under the branches... just reading...just me.

At this point, I had plopped down at my desk and I started to write...

The Wind and Me

The wind whipped wild through the willows and trees,

A restless and rowdy and mischievous breeze.

I sat with my book, sipping hot tea,

Under the branches, just reading, just me.

But oh! That wind—it had other plans.

First, it snatched up my book with invisible hands.

The pages flew open, they fluttered and flapped,

Like a bird on a mission, it zigged and it zapped.

Then—oh dear—it found my cup too,

And spun it around as the droplets all flew.

Little tea-rainbows danced in the air,

And I sat there wide-eyed, caught unaware.

But that wasn’t enough for the wild little breeze...

It whooshed me up high, past the tops of the trees!

Over the hills and beyond the tall pines,

To the clouds where the sun and the moon draw their lines.

And wouldn’t you know it, the wind whispered low:

"Adventure is calling, so let’s up and go!"

So I laughed as it carried me far, far away,

Through the sky, through the stars, for the rest of the day.

This poem began as a playful imagining when my brother was home in Seattle during a bomb cyclone. With schools closed and power down, I pictured him curled up with a book and tea, only for the mischievous wind to have other plans.

What started as a poem grew into a series of visual explorations...a typed version on my (very purple) Royal Classic typewriter, a whimsical sketch, and finally, a colored illustration that captures the playful chaos of the wind.

This little piece reminded me how naturally words and images can grow together. A storm that might have been dreary became a story of wonder and motion...an unexpected adventure in both poetry and art.