When the Wind Wolf-Whistled (Ostensibly at Me)

I used to think that people were taking poetic license when they talked about the wind having voices. Then we moved to Oklahoma. Here the wind is a tangible presence. It's more than just the occasional errant breeze blowing the hair into your face; it's its own person, its own personality. And honestly, most of the time the Oklahoman wind neither slumbers nor sleeps. It has angry days, like the one where it smashed my Mexican dolphin wind-chimes into tiny glass shards. It has insistent, pestering days where its stubbornness makes walking with the double stroller twice the workout (and forget about running). It has comforting days when its consistency sounds like the ocean waves I miss in the middle of a land-locked state. The last few days though, our wind has been on a bit of a mental breakdown. It has growled, shrieked, whistled, pounded, hooted (no lie), and pretty much pulled out all the stops to give us a rip-roaring good show. I have to say, it almost makes me wonder if the wind's girlfriend broke up with him. He shows all the signs of trying to get over a lost love. Minus eating several pints of ice cream and crying in front of the TV while watching a chick-flick.