It’s windy, today. So windy there’s crows flying off wires and bonking into cars. They can’t land. They swoop in and miss, and get buffeted away. They knock into each other, and into the walls. They poke out of their tree, feel the gale in their faces, and go back inside.
One time, a few years ago, I saw a dead bird in the wind. It tumbled and spun, with its feet up and down, and its wings were all floppy and threadbare. I’d never seen that before, a dead bird in the sky. That’s just how windy it was.
Another thing I saw today: a gull flying into the ladder. It slipped through the rungs, but it bumped its wings squeezing through. It screamed and dropped down, and it landed in the grass. I watched it for a while, but then I had to work. When I looked again, it had gone.
In other news, I’ve almost finished the novel I started on the 8th. I think I’ll wrap up tomorrow. That makes, the 8th to the 28th, twenty days. No, no. I don’t like that. I’m selling a first draft. I need ten more days.
I can’t have ten more days.
It’s just really windy. A guy lost his coat. The trees are bent in half. That flag by the billiard hall’s snapping away.
Can it blow so hard your car flies off the road? I mean, not flies—that’d be a hurricane. But, like, if you don’t have power steering, if you can’t pull back hard enough, can it push you off course, a stiff wind? (Is it obvious I don’t drive?)
Also, that dead bird, that time—I wonder if it died in the air, or got killed by the wind. Maybe it started to tumble, and the tumbling wouldn’t stop, and it couldn’t correct itself…like a tot in a dryer. Or it died on the roof, and the wind blew it off, and it just kept on going. Either way, quite undignified. An unseemly finish. Unless it blew up so high it got lost in the stratosphere, and it disintegrated up there, and it’s still blowing around. That would be kind of lovely.
Anyway, it’s windy. That’ll be all.