Yesterday the wind was blowing hard. ..Dry, warm and steady it was singing in the antennas and wires, and coaxing up swirls of dust from the barren ground.
I have heard it said that the wind "speaks". Well, I don't know about that, but it did seem to make a forlorn whistling noise. Perhaps it was not really too forlorn...It was more like the breath of a lover in ones ears...or the noise of a seashell held to the ear...but louder. A noise that is empty, but says something...if only one could figure out what it was.
The way the wind and dust and noise come come together I can picture a ghost town in some spaghetti Western. Clint Eastwood would be walking through the wooden saloon doors in some abandoned run down frontier place. Tumbleweeds would be blowing down the street, and old shutters would be creaking as his boots echoed on the saloon floors.
Those were good movies !