December 1, 2022 — Steph and I were having a lazy Sunday morning. As we talk, powerful gusts of wind blast against the weeping willows. Their branches drape in the calm until a big gust swings them out like a wind whipped flag. Gust after gust hurls through the yard and I watch wrinkled brown willow leaves leap from their branches like acrobats. Some leaves zoom upwards like playful birds and some spin in place like dragonflies.
The gusts also bring the surface of Little Traverse Lake alive. I look at what seems like several ducks skimming fast across the lake and kicking up a small stream of water. Or could they be some small fish surfacing across the top of the lake? But no, it is just a super strong gust that stirs up an agitated line of wavy water. I watch as an invisible hand stirs an invisible wand into the water in a semicircle, in a line, in a zig zag.
Later that night, I am driving to Glen Arbor on M-22 and a leaf bounces across the road. I could swear it was a frog, but they are underground. It is a curled leaf in a perfect impersonation. A little later, what seems like a mouse skirts across the road, but again, it is just a leaf catching my attention as the wind pushes it across the center line.
Most of the birds and waterfowl have flown south and the animals seem hunkered down. This void in the wild has been filled with playful gusts of wind, random leaves of fate, and imaginative minds.
