Wind and the Road.

I don’t tend to go along with the prosaic view that wind is merely moving air. To me, wind has character, sometimes commonplace and sometimes more interesting, but every wind has one. And the breeze that’s been blowing over the last two or three evenings has felt autumnal. In July? Indeed, and that’s what I thought odd.

There was no obvious explanation, you see. It wasn’t a particularly chilly wind; a little on the cool side perhaps, but nothing unusual for an evening in mid-late summer. And yet it instilled in me a strong sense that here was the first palpable sign that autumn is breathing its first breath.

It rather goes along with the fact that flowers which bloomed prematurely in the warm, dry spring and early summer are now fading earlier than usual. Whatever next I wonder? Best not think about, I suppose. Just go with the flow.

*  *  *

I was thinking yesterday about the circumstances during my childhood and school years which conspired to deny me tertiary education. I don’t regret it, of course, because we can never second guess fate. But it did encourage a backward look over the long and winding road onto which those circumstances placed me, and I became poignantly aware that the road, for all its inclines and declines and joys and sorrows and successes and failures, has nearly reached its end.

Best not think about it, I suppose. But I do, I do, and I do.