The clouds were low and black and heavy and soft, the sun not in sight. And the wind! The wind sang through the trees and flung ruffled pink cherry petals and the sharp scent of pine into my hair. It slithered softly musical over the loose bricks in Red Square and whistled between buildings. My trenchcoat was swept out taut behind me, forcing my steps into a rhythm so that I danced with the wind itself, and it flung its fingertips cold across my outstretched palm and curled my hair about my face.
(I have often wondered about people who do not wear long coats or cloaks. It seems like they would not know so well the silver and the slither and the song of the wind, and that they are missing alot. Perhaps it is in compensation for their greater exposure to the warmth of the sun? Give me the wind any day!)
I watched the wind sweep cherry petals into little swirls along the edges of stairways, and the slant of the heavier dogwood petals, and the curve of the grass - sharper here, nearly vertical here. You can see, a little, where the wind goes, and how it curves around the edge of a building just so, and fountains around the legs of walkers, and how, for no discernable reason, the smooth flow is broken into a labyrinth of spirals of dry leaves (where does the wind get all the dry leaves? They always seem to be there, no matter what season). And if you watch long enough, you begin to see the fine silver lines along the flow of the wind, following the paths laid out by petals and leaves and sound and arching trees. I thought, a little, of joxn whom I have never met, not without envy, for he studies turbulence and chaotic systems, and while I can see the swirls and rushes and flows of the wind, and I can even begin, a little, to put equations and gradients to the vector field defined thereby, I cannot say I understand them. I would like to, someday.