The winds howled and moaned
dirt and leaves and bug carcasses and dust bunnies
eddied and swirled
bounced down the clay tile steps
one by one
a soft whoosh followed by a light scraping sound
as crisp dry bougainvillea leaves skittered
in attempt to break free of the twirling mass
until finally the debris-heavy funnel cloud
entered the kitchen.
That within the house became airborne
papers flew off the table
the coupon for our next stay-at-home delivery
the gas tank receipt
every crumb I’d missed on the countertop leapt
thin gauzy curtains danced on the ceiling
the light above the table swayed like it was shipboard
heavy metal doors morphed from their former inanimate state
into petulant youngsters who will not stay in a room with a closed door
even though they are the ones who slammed it shut.
I wondered what else would come to life
as the gusts of this rain-less storm
released them from the spell of slumber and possum-play
so convincing their capacity to freeze under my gaze
I’d forgotten how easily
panes of glass and plans
wall hangings and fears
coffee makers and dreams
lamps and long-held loves
reveal their don’t-play-by-your-rules selves
shake off oh-so-limited human expectation
as they await the call of the wind.
The branches of the pirul knocked insistently
to be let in
as if it hadn’t been tossing its dried berry casings
over the balcony and into the living room every day, every night
despite my asking, ever so nicely, if it could kindly send them just a few feet the other direction
to the area of the neighbor’s hillside
where, to be honest,
a few thousand sprigs of tiny yellow buds that could be peppercorns but aren’t
wouldn’t destroy the overall
unused mattress/bed frame/wash machine/orange Jack O’ Lantern candy bucket
theme they’ve got going on.
I wondered who else the wind would urge indoors
the two stray Ladera de Tecolote cats and whoever they have been yowling to seduce the past few nights
possibly the only creatures still roaming about seeking sex
when the rest of us are told we can’t get within six feet of someone
even if we, too, are in heat
the band of roving dogs whose only purpose seems to be to taunt and incite
their canine compatriots pent up on balconies and roof-tops to bark all night long
the home-grown roosters to crow all night
the sleepless woman living on the hillside to restart the guided meditation one more time
as the storm continued
and continued
waking every dormant being
unsettling the already-awake
until all we inhabitants
of the land that once was home to the nomadic Chichimeca
ancestors to the Aztecs who would later attempt to destroy them
sang an ancient hymn to honor the God of the Night Wind
the “Giver of Life”
the creator and destroyer of the world
who once was offered a willing human sacrifice
to appease his awesome powers.
Last night’s paltry offering
a few human hours of sleep
will not suffice
I make myself ready
as afternoon sky darkens
and the papers take flight once again
tonight I will be ready
to surrender to the power of this ancient deity
I will wear my traveling clothes to bed
pack my pockets with nuts and berries
kiss my loved one goodbye instead of goodnight
await the moment I am swept up
with all the other rootless debris from the Tecolote hillside
swirled and danced and bounced about
until the breath of the night wind softens and dissipates
deposits me in some other patch of Chichimeca territory
and I awake tomorrow morning
windswept clean, ready
the spell broken.
Notes:
Ladera de Tecolote translates as Hillside of the Owl in English.
The Pirul, also known as a Peruvian or California pepper tree, is an evergreen introduced to Mexico from Perú in the middle of the 16th century. It grows to 50 feet, with dense clusters of hundreds of brightly colored fruit berries sometimes sold as peppercorns, but are unrelated to true pepper.