It rattled my window all night and I turned about, over and over, barely going under. It is a potent force. And I still make myself walk into it, legs stiff and rigid, hips as metal. It is better that way. I face my fear of it. And I love the smell it conjures up. Everything is stirred, all is revealed. The wet stink of earth, the flurried confetti of cherry and magnolia blossom, the dying slippered cases of daffodil heads, and salt, carried from the sea. I walk into it, seeking streets where it is not so strong and am unable to find them. It is funnelled down them, catching me unawares and I reach out to cars, to railings, to walls for support. And then I am home, aching from the holding in of breath and muscle.
