There is a wonderful wind tonight. The air is warm, because nobody told it that it’s January, and the wind is high and wild. I love wind like this; it makes me think of God.
When I was first spending time with Bill Stevenson, he remarked one afternoon that the wind might be angels. We were walking together in a more remote corner of campus, over where the path wound up to the fine arts building, having yet again run into each other. In those early days, we accidentally ran in to one another quite a bit– at least, we both thought it was accidental. So we were walking together, blown by the wind, and he said it might be angels. He was referring to Hebrews 1:7, where it says, “He makes his angels winds.” I liked that.
He is not here tonight. None of the men in my life are here. They departed for Pennsylvania while I was at class, and while Emma Grace was with her friends the Ginsbergs at a concert. It was a happy, busy evening for both of us, but I felt the emptiness of the house even as I turned the corner of our street.
Emma Grace and I will have a fine time together this weekend, I am sure, and Bill, William and Everett will have a fine time, too. And before we know it, we will all be together again, and I will wish for some solitude, and for less noise from the boys, and that Bill wouldn’t sleep so very much in the middle of the bed.
Meanwhile, I will go to bed tonight with the rushing wind singing at my open window, and I will pray that the same wind will follow my boys and surround their van, all the way to Pennsylvania.
