You Might as Well Try and Ditch the Wind

I was the short-straw winner of parking lot duty this morning. Actually, it's a standing duty. Heh, heh. I said standing duty, and we STAND. The duties are set at the beginning of each school year. Wednesday is my day now. The parking lot is better than bus, but not as convivial as cafeteria. It's usually peaceful in the morning, except for chastising speeders. My issue is with uncontrollable climatic factors.

Today was a zephyr morning. An annoying swirl of wind dogged me the entire thirty minutes. Not an ongoing gale, to which I could adjust my position, and lean into like I was riding the bow of the Titanic. A twisty wispy current that reshaped my hair until I looked like a cat had given my head a bath. A cat without a cosmetology license.

Thankfully, it is not yet Chapstick season. Because tufts of hair would have become glued to my lips. At least this morning they waved to and fro, tickling me like a freshman on a band bus headed for a competition, wielding a pillow feather and stroking the undernose area of sleeping trombone players.

It was the kind of wind that hawks ride like an aerial lazy river. Two yellow sugar-maple leaves circled overhead like a pair of such raptors, but without the promise of snagging a field mouse, or dropping liquid feces on my head. The wind away from the building roared like a category five hurricane. Trees bent. It was a toss-up on which I would see first: an old crone pedaling a bicycle with a Cairn terrier in the basket, or a Holstein cow  and the entire cast of the movie Twister.

I yearned for a knit beanie to hold my tresses in place. I'm not sure whether it would have looked more out of place on me, or on those hipster dudes who wear them during midwestern summers at 107 degrees.