Where the wind takes you

Is anything its simple-seeming, literal self (as in, "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.")? Today we have the big winds, and I think of a bully pushing from the back of the line so that everyone ahead stumbles. At the same time, the skies are clear (not counting the dust), there is movement - a sign of life - where all is generally still and, though it defies explanation, a sense of change.

I have never been one who saw things that people said weren't there; any fancied alterations to the status quo come to me as ideas, not sights. If I had Spiderman's inklings, I'd say something was afoot. Wind is a perfect metaphor for things not remaining as they are. (Apropos of synonyms, like, what is another way to say change, in a recently-viewed documentary segment on "Monty Python's Flying Circus," John Cleese explained how he brought a thesaurus to the session in which they wrote the Dead Parrot sketch, running through the list of all words and phrases that meant dead.)

So if things are not static but fluctuating, what are they becoming? And what things are they?

Right now I have no answer, only the questions. And in the absence of a clear answer, I know to wait. Could be the wind swept away some mental debris, leaving open space. Whatever may arrive to fill it has not yet appeared. Or perhaps everything that was lodged there yesterday remains today, only rearranged, not quite where I left it. So it may not be a traditional species of change that I sense, more an altered perspective; why, the room DOES look bigger with the dresser under the window. Los Angeles dwellers are known to become disoriented by our winds, except they are generally the hot, autumnal Santa Anas. It is equally possible that I've read too much into what is merely a shifting weather pattern. They say sometimes a wind is just a wind.