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[Gene GeRue <genegerue AT ruralize.com>]

THE RURAL LIFE
Summer Wind

By VERLYN KLINKENBORG
Published: July 18, 2008
For the past few hours, the wind has been rising and falling, the  
precursor of a storm coming in from the west. When the wind climbs, a  
kind of elation blows through the house — it’s the hushing sound of  
the leaves outside and the way the breeze sweeps the floors and lifts  
the curtains and slams the doors. The dogs snap to and look around  
when it gusts. And when the wind drops, it seems to drop us — the dogs  
and me — into the trough of an ordinary summer day.

I spent a humid morning recently in the barnyard with the farrier, who  
was shoeing Remedy, my quarter horse. Remedy was dozing the way a  
customer sometimes dozes in a barber’s chair. First one hoof, then  
another. Heel and toe trimmed and rasped and the shoe nailed home,  
followed by more rasping. The other horses stood in the corral, lower  
lips drooping in the heat. A twist of wind came across the pasture, up  
from the highway, stirring the sumac along the fenceline. The farrier  
stopped and stretched his back. Remedy shifted his feet and looked  
intently at the mares. I turned my face into the wind and recoiled the  
lead rope.

The breeze this afternoon is like respiration, in and out pretty  
steadily with a prolonged sigh now and then. In the pauses, when the  
wind is still, I can feel the expectation of a storm building. This  
isn’t simply the quiet of an afternoon. It’s the quiet in which  
something is about to happen.

I hope it’s a good storm, a high wind, rain slanting across the  
pastures, geese splashing in the sudden puddles, chickens huddled  
inside their house trying to keep the wind from getting under their  
feathers. For a moment, the house I’m in seems to inflate, to fill  
with air that was just outside a few seconds ago. For a moment, it  
feels like a sail filling, lifting, as though this cranky old  
farmhouse might loose its mooring and reach toward the sea.

VERLYN KLINKENBORG

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/18/opinion/18fri4.html?ref=opinion