Today is the middle day of a spring Nor'Easter. The 'blow' day. ('One to grow, one to blow, one to go.) I love the grey air and the wet thrash of the wind. it feels like something is happening, Or like something huge and benevolent is leaning down from the sky. And it smells so good, even here in the city. And it reminds me of being a child, on an island where weather could mean no ferry service, Nobody could come or go-- no matter how much you paid, or how much you had been planning on it, you were stuck. And no newspaper! Wind does that. Not the rain, which does not matter.
Here and now, my nose hurts when the weather changes. My knee aches too. Our bodies are the accumulation of the lives we have had. The past stacks up in our bones. It does not forget us.
I love that even in the city, there is no getting away from the weather. Every person is huddled under an umbrella. They don't all stop to see the water drip from the daffodills. Some of them never even look at the sky. But I do. I remember.