wind redux

Ever since the sun began its slow, ponderous squat behind the western mountains this evening, it's been windy. Very windy. I left the tent an hour or so after having taken that picture of my sweaty self, and discovered that it had gotten cooler outside than inside. I was drenched in sweat when I left the tent, but within minutes of exiting that cocoon, the wind had blown me dry.

I limped (yes, I limp pretty much everywhere now) to the gas station and greeted the dour attendant, an obese thirtysomething who, in the four or five times I've talked to him, has never once said a positive thing.

"How's it going?"
"Surviving."

"How're you doing?"
"Waitin' for the end of my shift."

"OK, man-- take care."
"Heh. I'll try."

To his credit, the guy doesn't transfer whatever bitterness he harbors in his soul to his customers. Aside from his Eyore-ish greetings and goodbyes, he's perfectly polite, though I'm not sure I'd go as far as to call him friendly.

I bought water and some djunque foude, limped back to my campsite, and had fun just sitting cross-legged on a large rock and facing into the wind.

It was as if Mother Nature were trying to make up for the miserable day she had put us through. The wind (which is still battering my tent as I type this entry) blew out of infinite lungs, playful and gusty, unswervingly from the west, doing its damnedest to uproot my tent but failing thanks to the rocks holding down my tent stakes. It was an amazing finish to an otherwise rough day.

Maybe not a finish: it's still noisy in here, and my tent seems to be reenacting moments from "The Blair Witch Project." But the tent's design is good: for all that flapping, the air in here is quite calm. I won't mind sleeping in all this racket. Not at all. I just hope the wind doesn't grow strong enough to tug the stakes out of the grip of my rocks. Not a big problem if it happens: if the stakes are uprooted, the tent is still weighted down by the biggest stone of all.

Yesterday we had a gorgeous full moon; tonight's moon is incarnadine, like a vampire's baleful, hungry stare. On a night like this, it's easy to imagine a small fleet of cursed ships, chock full of the undead, sailing upriver against this wind, intent on some fell mission. I wanted to take a picture of tonight's moon, but try as I might, the BlackBerry's not up to the task, so you'll just have to imagine it.

Sleep well, all.

Ah, this wind. This amazing wind.


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