A momentary pause from the poetry to comment on the hellacious movement of winds through area in the last 24 hours…

229911232_1b3e173c59Da-yamn! I lived on a coastal Maine island and experienced less wind than the likes I have come to expect living here.

This has gotten my mind going on the various winds of the world: The life-sucking Santa Anas of California, the mythical Mistrals of France, the insomnia-inducing Siroccos of Italy, or the sweet Zephyrs of Greece. I really love that people of old bothered to name their regional fare of wind.

It’s sad in modern times when we receive a “southeasterly breeze” or an “arctic blast” by comparison. It’s become all science and no art or philosophy. Even a Nor’ Easter sounds lame next to the Chocolateros of Mexico (the accumulated dust turns the air to “cocoa”), or the Blue Northers of Texas, which sounds pretty and romantic, but is the name of some of the most destructive winds in the world.

Given the frequency with which Erie has windstorms tearing through here (I can think of at least four in the last year alone), isn’t it high time we named these suckers?