Lots more rough dreams as the Santa Anna winds blow through, and I feel the anxiety that comes from all the not-knowing and waiting and waiting and not-knowing.
Winter ends with a powerful gusting push in March, 30-40 mph winds, and power outages all over town. Winter ends the way souls are supposed to leave the bodies of yetis. I’ve been up on the roof, tying down this and that, and hammering as needed, in the brief bouts when the winds die down a while.
Every gust will die back. There’s a push that comes when you’re releasing something into the wild. That push when the things you do leave you then a mighty gust, and then a whimper at the end to take a breath.
When things are blowing out into the world, it feels like surrendering. It feels like letting go, and being done with everything. It feels like the times of change that come when the long, hard winter breaks. No more huddling at the glass wall between self and art. No more curled up in a corner cold and late at night. The wind breaks loose. It rattles the eaves, and shakes out the porch.
Take a deep breath. Let the words go. Let them tear the eaves off the roof.