I had an interesting thought the other night as I was watching a reflection of the sunset on clouds over Lake Michigan. The shore was completely calm, but for a gentle breeze wrinkling over the surface of the water. Yet as I stepped away from my reverie and returned to the concrete jungle, a torrential wind tore at me from the West.
And this was my thought--consequently geographical in nature. Imagine from whence that wind had come. . . Traversing around mountains and vales, through cities and towns, across rivers and streams, making its way steadfastly to the coast--not of a vast ocean or sea, but a simple lake--the birth place of a Midwestern metropolis.
Oh to be a breath on the wings of that wind. To hover over the changing landscape and shifting tide. A perfect witness to time and space. The most honest of troubadours. A noble chronicler. An ode to the Westward wind.
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