I rummaged again through old deleted blogs, this time copying posts from their hidden homes and pasting to my phone’s memo pad so I could share them. I copied only a few, and I’m sharing most of each (but not all).
Here is most of a post from June 3, 2016, nearly one year ago…
…And while standing in my heavy cotton black and dingy white striped coveralls on the side of life’s road, the most satisfying thing I know is closing my eyes and feeling the wind blow past, wishing to chase it and fantasizing where it’s headed.
The thing about wind, though, is that it’s always on the move. It has no final destination.
And as much as I’d like to consider that wind to be free, it’s at the mercy of pressure like everything else. Even wind is chained to a system. The illusion is that it’s escaping something, sweeping up, for good or bad, things not anchored down, when in fact it, too, is being pulled. It’s easier to yield. It’s nature’s way.
Perhaps when that wind passes over me, the whispers I interpret as a calling are no more than it reaching out like a kindred soul providing the comfort of empathy, or seeking it.