The Day My Windsock Ran Away (Almost)

by Keith C. Heidorn

Last night:

My windsock ran away

Almost.

Finally succumbing to the call of the wildwind,

A call often heard, a siren's song.

Being a child of the wind

I have often been pulled by a gale

To leave the confines I call home.

Being a child of the wind

The sock released its grip from the eve hook

Falling into the arms of Mother Gale.

It left last night

When the wind raged

Tearing clouds to fluttering rags

Of fleeing flannel, white and grey,

But did not go far.

I found it in the grasp of the blackberry bush

Nabbed in mid-flight by the long arm

Of the laws of gravity and motion.

Its brief life as a fugitive

Ended

Wet, soiled, a little tattered,

Forlorn, confined, a little sad.

I, however, was joyed to find it

Close to home, for I love

To watch it change expression

With the unseen wind.

Writhing, twisting, spinning.

Jumps — double, triple, even a quad.

Left — Right

South — North

Back — Away

I sympathize too,

For I have my hook

Which binds me.

Though I twist and turn

Spin and writhe

Leap and dance,

Longing to go nowhere in particular

But to follow the gale's whim.

I too stay; I cannot cut my line.

Written by
Keith C. Heidorn, PhD, THE WEATHER DOCTOR,
January 1, 2001

The Day My Windsock Ran Away (Almost) ©2001, Keith C. Heidorn, PhD. All Rights Reserved.
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