If Chicago is the 'windy city', then Kansas must surely be the 'windy state'. The days filled with bluster and blow are more common than not here, and there are times when it can be wearing. Many times we can barely get out our south door as it pushes in a backwards tug-of-war, and the hedgerows are bent in a permanent northeasterly direction from its unrelenting force. It howls at us on wintry days, swirling snow in drifts at our doorstep, and races across our prairie in a fury of tantrums during spring thunderstorms.
Yet... looking skyward one can see clouds in syncopation as the wind choreographs their dance, and the tall grass, wheat and wildflowers dip and sway in rippling response. A sea of green flows across the prairie as far as the eye can see; at one time carrying covered wagons upon its rolling waves.
And when the driving rains stop, the wind blows its gusty breath across muddy roads, bringing a warmth that transforms it back into a passable lane, and new leaves rustle together in whispered chatter, anxious to share their words after a long winter of barren boughs.
The wind and I have a love/hate relationship. But when I think back on the days when I was a child sitting on the bed with my mother, I remember those words we once read together. ...and regardless of the situation, the memory makes me smile.
"Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I. But when the trees bow down their heads, the wind is passing by."