The relentless fall winds blow in today as if they never left; instead, waiting and gathering strength deep in the prairie dog holes. Free now, the winds oddly sound like heavy ocean waves, and their ferocity ebbs and flows like the breaking of those waves near the shoreline.

The remnant summer flowers bow down at the tearing wind, begging the gusts to gather their seed and shuttle them  to nearby nooks and crannies where they will sleep until spring.

Birds fly south above the windy ruckus. I see a small migrant Hawk on street sign and Rails in the parking lot. I say to flocks overhead, “wait, wait for me”, but they move on, unburdened.

My departure will be more cumbersome: a car, truck, and camper filled with my human detritus. My dog. I do not know my destination, although I posses the same primal, soulful urge to fly away, The same desire for simplicity. Like the Sandhill Cranes, who steer through the sky with such determination and certainty. I know I will land. So I wait with the wind. Wondering.