Blowing again. Wind chimes newly hung have been ripped to the ground. The one remaining from Arcosanti peals all night like a ball-peen on the skull. The wind brings moisture but sooted with a thick cloud of orange dust. The dust settles on everything inside, outside; it lodges in your teeth, your hair.
I’ve loved this wind because it chastens. If it were just the wind, that alone would be enough. But what when the whole world brings you to bow?
Last night I asked my friend Al how life was.
Full, he said. 100%.
Really? I asked.
Yeah, he said. I mean it’s always 50-50. Is it half empty or half full? But when you add it all up it equals 100%. So there you go. Full.