Today the wind has a harrowing sound, a roar and a whirring. I find it hard to describe, but the sound of it is so momentous because it never wanes, it’s like constant back-ground sound, almost like a distant white-noice machine. Now and then this mighty wind will rush in nearby to specifically shake dried leaves and branches I can see, before vanishing or rushing off elsewhere. As a figurative artist, for me everything is a person, but even the invisible wind has some kind of personality to me. Wind has character, is an invisible push, a force, a spirit or THE spirit. I have loved the power and mystery of the wind since childhood when we lived in the Texas Panhandle, where there is nothing to stop the force of wind over dry grassy plains. Somehow out there it sang, it haunted us with the wailing of the souls of Kiowas, Comanches and lost pioneers. But it never scared me. I think I connected the spooky sound of the wind with the word “spirit” early on. Standing there, listening to it as a kid, I thought and felt that something out there knows more than we do, something is more in charge than we are, something is greater and wants our attention. The unseen calls out to us to tune in as well as to tune inward, to hear the whisper of that quiet knowing within. What is unseen is yet present. The outside roar only reminds me that there is an inside roar and it is my spirit within stirring like the wind-blown trees with every choice I make.