The problem with wind isn’t that it exists.
Wind was here before we arrived, before they made the black coffee, before we decided on the lemon-raspberry muffin and the black coffee they made before we arrived.
And the problem with wind isn’t that it’s fickle.
Wind overcomes obstacles on its way to us, on its way past us, on its way somewhere else. If wind varies in speed, it’s not because of its attitude, because wind doesn’t know anything but movement, because it is movement, because when it isn’t movement, it isn’t anything.
It’s different with us.
We aren’t defined by movement. When we stop moving for a moment, as opposed to forever, we remain ourselves.
Not so with wind. It must move. That is what it is.
It is not here to knock down our bicycle any more than we are here to keep a chair from blowing away.
(It’s strange how we occupy one chair. Look at us.)
But we keep our chair from blowing away though that’s not our purpose, and the wind knocks down our bicycle though that’s not its purpose.
No, the problem with wind is there is no problem with wind.
We have our problems, that’s our bike on the ground, but wind is not the problem.
Wind is its own thing.
As we are. Over here, where we are.
And as the bicycle is. It’s no longer standing, but it’s still a bicycle.
Well, now wind was.
And what wind was is still something because of us.
Because we remember wind.
And we pick up the bicycle.
The bicycle that does not remember wind or us or falling or not or suffering or anything because it is a bicycle and not us.
We pick up the bicycle and stuff it into the bike rack in case wind returns.
And we will not blame wind for returning or be surprised when it does, not this time.
Because this is where wind was.
April 26. 1 mile.