Falling

By Jon Ferry I caught her eye as a gust of wind blew gently falling leaves of burgundy and burnt gold off soldier-like trees standing guard near the upscale coffee shop. Passing by where I sat on the Paris-style, sidewalk patio, her cherry red halter dress lifted, but she kept smiling as she grabbed her wide-brimmed hat to stop it flying. And I grinned back when she tripped awkwardly and fell on top of me, knowing well that a wind surge can catch any of us off guard, even when we’re expecting it. Knocking over a rattan chair, she apologized profusely, then playfully squeezed my arms and beamed: “I always love it when a calm, strong man truly gets me.” Life is a light breeze or a blast. It’s a gale of laughter or an insinuating baseboard draft … when it’s not a dread tempest or an all-out hurricane. Our emotions are the wind, soaring above the choppy waves like a tough seabird one moment, then tumbling right down … like a desperate, drunken clown. Engines of the weather, winds stir the world, pollinating plants, spreading feather-like seeds, powering all kinds of vessels … and creating electricity. But their chief virtue for well-dressed, cool women with flowing tresses – and their male admirers – is the freedom it gives to ruffle feathers and be their fearless selves again.