Wind
The winds, here again, rattling shingles and tossing garbage cans into the street. The winds, harbingers of change, nomads and poltergeists, gods and gremlins. The winds, hissing through dry leaves, through massive hardwood deciduous trees. The winds, camped outside the city rim last night in caravans, small fires encircled by music and twirling, maddening dances. The scent of ambergris burned to ash, patchouli in the creases of burnt umber skirts and pantaloons, home brewed spirits and crisply spiced stew.
Tomorrow, they would march through the pass together. Last night, hushed tones and slithering snickers, secrets and boastful challenges laid as foreshadows. Here, a djinn strokes his beard and leers at cloud maidens. There, a weasel god bends in impossible angles, each joint hung with bells. At nearly five hundred strong, each has a different desire, each has a duty and a station, each has waited for Selene to complete her open armed embrace and turn her back, for the sliver of Hecate’s team to warm in the stables. Sleep comes fitfully, last magicks are set, oathbinds are taken, and the sun crests over the Cascades to the sound of trumpets, drums, and dragons.
They will ride down onto the plains with war whoops and catcalls, with Romany lilts and wild, unhinged bravado. They will ride down onto the plains with unwavering purpose and will settle in to the hollows between stones, hover over reeds and fishes, perch in boughs and atop cornices. They will leap crevasses and with tiny precision, shake loose the seeds of dandelions, caress the feathers of sparrows, cool the tops of ladles.
Today, they make for Samhain, for the turning of the dark. Today, they make for the narrowing veil and all the spaces around it. In their charge, the land bows down. In their motion, the passing of promises. In their wake, stories lie like round shiny stones after the tide is gone.
Today, the winds here again, pressed against windows, slamming shutters, raising oceans and rivers. There is a blare and a rumble, serpentine tails and hooves.
Welcome to the Season of Mist and Bluster, Seattle.
