Wind was rustling the dry palm leaves when he crawled out in the early dawn and stirred the coals to life to make coffee.”
–Louis L’Amour (The Strong Shall Live)
“Oh the wayward wind is a restless wind. A restless wind that yearns to wander…” What’s the matter, Pard, yuh look green under the gills. Yuh don’t like my croonin’? What? Yuh think I sound like a bull a-snortin’? Take a sip, it’s strong enough to clean out yur ears, in fact, yuh might want to put a drop or two in yur ears–wouldn’t hurt yuh none. “Oh, I was born the next of kin, the next of kin to the wayward wind.”
Ahhh, the coffee is good this mornin’. That, along with my singin’ sure does wonders for the soul. Oh, not so much for yurs though. The wind, I’ve always enjoyed a breeze or a slight wind, don’t care much for those twisters or hurrycanes. I remember that ol’ pioneer, Bob Nolan, who told us to “listen to the wind.” But then he left us a-hangin’ for we don’t know what it’s sayin’. That mountain boy, John Denver, wrote a song about the Wind. There is just somethin’ ’bout the wind.
I was readin’ some words from Solomon this past week. He said, “God’s ways are as hard to discern as the pathways of the wind…”. Now, ol’ Solomon was reported to be the wisest man, but Pard, let me tell yuh somethin’–he shore ‘nough done some stupid things. He couldn’t understand the ways of God, but God done told him not to marry those foreign wives who’ll bring in their false gods. Yuh know, it wasn’t until he was gettin’ up there in years that he could look back at the whole of life and see some of the foolish things that he an’ others had done did.
Get a good whiff of that aroma ‘fore yuh go guzzlin’. It’ll lift yuh right out of yur doldrums. But, back to the wind, even Jesus talked of the wind. What was it He said, “The wind blows where it wishes, and yuh can hear the sound of it, but yuh cannot tell where it comes from or where it goes.” Boy howdy, ain’t that the truth. Growin’ up where I did, most of the time the wind came rushin’ in from the West right down those canyons. Oh, Pard, an’ one more thing, the blessed Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost came in like a rushin’ mighty wind.
So don’t be on me ’bout my singin’. It’s just like the wind. Sometimes, it’s a whisper, an’ other times I just cut loose and let it fly. My singin’ is a joyful sound, at least to my ears. I don’t from whence it comes, sometimes from a thought, an’ other times from down deep in my innards. If’n yur in the way, well, just be hopin’ I hit a right note now and again.
Say, Pard, it’s time to be gettin’ on down the road. Nice little breeze outside for yuh to be ridin’ in. Yuh take yur time, don’t be in a rush, and if’n I’ve told yuh once I’ve told yuh a hundred times, be checkin’ yur cinch.
Vaya con Dios.
(note: Wayward Wind written by Herbert Newman)