the lost man chronicles
gusto .18

"We'll get gusts of up to 50 miles an hour today," boasted the 5 AM report.

I became quite excited, because I know the wind to be wonderful—the whirlpools of leaves, the way it gracefully carries you forward, the beautiful rush of blue-grey nebulae, the funneled hush whispering from alleyways, the haunting melody whistling through my window, the anxious glass panes threatening to burst open with just a little extra push.

More than most of nature's other antics—wind is wild, wind is fun.

Thus, at the foggy mirror, I grinned widely as I slicked back my hair lightly with a smidgeon of gel. For I was rather eager to get that "wind-swept hold" that makes me feel as debonair as any of a pack of wily e. coyotes: Nickie Ferrante, Rhett Butler, The Motorcycle Boy, Edward Lewis-Zack Mayo-Julian Kaye, Brick Pollitt-Eddie Felson-Butch Cassidy…

The weather forecast also proclaimed that the temperature would drop 10 degrees into the low forties. This meant I could comfortably and finally put my cozy lining in my coat—that was exciting too. For there's nothing like a being outside on a slightly chilly day with a good pair of gloves on, your fall waist-coat, and a snug shoreman's cap—it gives one a very warm, very toasty feeling that's almost as good as being before the fireplace in your flannel PJs on a white winter night.

"When you can't change the direction of the wind- adjust your sails."
~ H. Jackson Brown

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