...blows down the door
and spills my soup upon the floor.
I read that poem in fifth grade, which did not mean all that much to me (still remember the teacher trying to explain what 'chicken soup' was to me using words that I know).
Yesterday was very windy. Gusty. Blustery. It was not technically March yet (aside from the parts of the world with the time differences that allow them to celebrate March early), but it was windy enough so that the grey skies of the morning looked...guileless, that's what..guilelessly blue by one in the afternoon and at three, going to bio, the wind first tried to steal my hat and then ended up blow me sideways, bike and all, while I was rounding a corner. Not as in turning the bike to go sideways, but as in trying to go straight and have the entire thing shifted one inch to the lee of the wind, me, bike, books, everything.
The southern part of the campus also smelled a bit like cows. thanks to the wind, which is the only indications I've seen over the past few months of their continuing presence.
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