kiwords

Windy day today. Not breezy, but howlingly windy. I stepped out of the van this afternoon at the grocery store and the wind wrenched the door from my hand and smacked it into the car next to me. Thank God, into the rubbery bumper thingy on their door. I hate that kind of wind. It feels threatening, ominous. I watched newspaper and leaves swirl past the windows and worried about what might be loose out there, sailing away to get wedged under a fence in some abandoned lot.
When we pulled onto our street after the grocery store trip, Tre noticed that there were tumbleweeds careening along down the sidewalk. One was snagged by a rosebush next to our driveway, and he excitedly begged to be let out of the van. He wanted to free the tumbleweed from the rosebush and toss it back into the wind.
So I let him out, and pulled into the garage. After a few minutes he came bounding into the house with pink cheeks and that glow. That thrilled glow. The dizzyingly wild wind was exhilarating to him. He dragged Max outside with him and together they chased tumbleweeds down the street. They would snatch up a weed that was taller than them and wider than their arms could reach, and bring it back to show me. Their prey, conquered by the fearless warriors of the wind. Then they would toss it above their heads, where the wind would grab it away and fling it down the street.
They caught something like nine tumbleweeds and brought them to our front yard before releasing them again. I stood at the large front window and nodded, impressed, at their prowess. Max did bring one particularly large specimen in, suggesting it might make a nice decoration, but I unfeelingly nixed that idea.
I wanted to order them both inside, to wrap blankets around them and lock the doors against that howling wind.
But children are wild creatures, and sometimes you just have to let them hunt tumbleweeds in a wind as wild as they are.