Intimate Conversation 1
WIND
Ramón Sender Barayón
June, 1976
The secret to holding a conversation with anyone, be they human,
animal, vegetable or mineral, is to approach them as an equal. The equation
'equal equals equal' (= = =) overcomes all interpersonal and intra-species
obstacles. If I avoid a down-the-nose, more-evolved-than-thou attitude
as well as its opposite, a fawning fear of the Nameless, everything from
the Deity on down to forget-me-nots will talk to me. The wind is a good
example, although only recently have I been able to understand what it
says.
One breezy day last spring, a local troupe of buzzards was practicing
a particularly intricate aerial ballet over the canyon of redwoods behind
my coastal cabin. As good a time as any to put my theory into practice,
I decided.
"Hello, wind!" I shouted. "Hi wind! Hi!"
"Swooosh!" the wind replied, using a convenient pine in lieu
of vocal cords. For emphasis it bounced a bluejay off its perch.
I laughed, always appreciative of a good joke. "How are you?"
I yelled.
"M-wahhh," the wind replied, noncommital, and waved the laundry
on the line. "Howww ahhh yooooo Û plahp!?" One towel flapped an exclamation
point.
"Oh, you know me," I said. "I get - well, it just happens. My
ears plug up, I stop listening and stomp around like everyone else and
then... suddenly I... I hear you, wind, and I can talk to you, and I'm
back in nature's magical dimension."
"Hahhh yahna hahhh," the wind said, obviously an ancient proverb
in our local Miwok Indian tongue. Unless it was classical Sanskrit. I made
a note to check it out. Meanwhile, a strong flurry rattled the page under
my pencil.
"Hi, wind! I love you!" I shouted. Doubtless the neighbors were
watching through binoculars or dialing the local mental health hot line,
but I could care less. This was important!'
"Eee-hoh," the wind said. That means 'son' in Spanish, my native
tongue.
That really impressed me! How many languages did it know? A gust
grabbed me in a breathy hug and tousled my hair like a favorite uncle.
"Amigo," I replied.
"Ah-mee-goh," it echoed, using a combination of a redwood and
an oak to form the word.
"Fraynnnnnnnd!" squawked the bounced bluejay from a fencepost,
butting in with a translation.
So passionate, this wind! It mentioned something and then insisted,
yearning for understanding. Woof! That puff blew everything - page, shirt,
collar. Anything flappable was flapped, a nudge from a friendly air serpent.
And the clouds! They approached me in two rows, their veils churning slowly.
Just the right amount of clouds today. Gobs of whipped cream, spun-sugar
tips of a swirl on an eddy of a current from the north, tag ends of a rainstorm.
"All," the wind sang.
It had been singing all along, but I had concentrated on the
words rather than the melody. The tune? Perhaps the middle of the first
movement of a Tchaikowky symphony - filched by the composer, no doubt.
Can't trust those Russians.
Off it went to rummage in the bottom of the canyon. Whoosh! Back
again, roaring from the treetops, building in a crescendo before laughing
away to nothing.
"Haw haw," a raven interpolated. Again - "haaw haw," the inflection
on the first syllable this time. Was he being sarcastic?
A vulture scooted over me waggling his red head back and forth,
slaloming through the grove. A duet for robin and wind began on the other
side of the garden.
"Hayyy, hehhh, hahhh, ow aw - dit-dit - ahhh, cheep! Ahhh, cheep!
Hahhh - cheep! --- hahhh!"
I applauded wildly when they finished, and the wind fished for
an encore with a tug at my pants leg.
"Shh aw wahhh!"
My mind wandered to how a college freshman English professor
had drilled into my head an inordinate fear of falling into the gruesome
error of Pathetic Fallacy, the imparting of human characteristics to 'lower'
species or inanimate objects. Only dancehall poets and future opium addicts
indulged in such cheap thrills, he explained. It had taken me years to
overcome his indoctrination, but I was helped along by the ancient teaching,
'as above, so below.' If we were a mini-model of the universe and we talked,
so then did everything else!
I missed the wind's next word, busy with these ruminations. But
I waited patiently while it squawked the chickens in the neighbors' back
yard.
Suddenly it said 'we're' very distinctly before whipping down
the hillside. Or was it 'weird?' More than likely. Annoyed at my woefully
short attention span, no doubt. A breath of a breeze began, the beginning
of an inhale three times as long as my own, another big build-up - but
not over the top.
Gone again!
"Hey, wind-wind!" I called. "Come back! I'll pay attention!"
Could it have become that peeved over one missed word? Must have
been important. Distant branches stirred in a sudden overflight, but it
was interested in something else, leapfrogging Douglas firs on the next
ridge. Fickle creature, I thought. Independent. Friendly though, passionate
and soothing in turn. Understanding too. A perfect companion for an afternoon.
"Awww," it said in the canyon. Must have mind-read the compliments!
All at once it came booming back, pulling at everything. I listened
carefully, holding down the paper with one hand, pencil at the ready.
"Sure...." it said from its favorite redwood.
"Wishhh..." from the wild lilac bush.
"Youuu..." it hooted through the chicken wire of the garden fence.
"Were..." whirred a hummingbird, balancing on a sunbeam.
"Here..."
"Heyyy hehhh hahhh..."