Place seems to be an important part of my memories. So, when I was seven or eight, I was on the lawn leading to the woods beside our house. This was the third house I had lived in.
It was small, one-story, and the “front door” led directly to the woods. It was a rarely used door. The door from the kitchen was the main entrance, leading to a deck, and a flight of stairs to the driveway. No one coming to the house would think of using the “front” door.
So, I don’t know why I used it that day. Perhaps the wind was exciting the trees. It was exciting me. I apparently have always liked the wind – the more and the faster the better. Still do, though – maybe – I don’t appreciate a great, rushing wind the way I used to. It can probably knock me over far more easily than in those days of my youth.
But, out in the rushing wind I was. I know it was strong enough to make me stumble, though not fall. The trees were wild. Leaves and branches and missile-any raced through the air. I pondered if I might fly along with it.
I don’t know how long I was in it. I suspect two or three minutes (every one of which I enjoyed thoroughly). Ready to fly. However, the unused front door burst open, my father dashed out, grabbed me up, and carried me into the house.
He said I was in a hurricane. He told me it was dangerous. He said not to do it again. I suspect he might have wanted to ask if I was crazy.
I generally obeyed my father, but must confess – today I did not. Nor have I done so many times in my life. I always try to get out into a hurricane. Sometimes unwisely, but generally with more attention to being careful, than I ever did going out that front door.
Just did it this morning, going out for my ten minutes in Hurricane Lee. It really is as exciting as ever.
DE
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