Earth acts upon and through earth, and we can hear it from a distance. See also, the landslide and the earthquake.
Water acts upon and through water, and we can hear it from a distance. See also, the raging river and the choppy sea.
Fire acts upon and through fire, and we can hear it from a distance. See also, the wildfire and the hearthfire.
Air acts upon and through air, and we can only hear it when it acts upon something not air. Standing on the ground looking up at clouds passing a scant hundred feet over my head, pushed with obviously vigorous winds, and I realize I don’t hear anything.
The past two days, the winds have been 50mph (80kph) sustained with 75mph (120kph) gusts to punctuate the declaration that humanity can be easily broken by nature. Air hauls ass and the only way I know it is happening is when the winds interact with something not-wind.
I stand sheltered from the wind and all I feel is a teasing breeze playing with my exposed scalp and trying to tease itself up the bottom hem of my sweater. The only sound is the whistling of the wind against the edge of the shelter, and the complaint of the unwillingly bowed palm tree across the field as the fronds are shredded by the wind’s unrelenting demand for respect.
And then I step out of the pocket of smooth air created by the shelter.
And the wind does the impossible, and makes me kneel as I’m knocked off my feet by the full body check, while also making me bow my head as I try to work out the surprise dust from my eyes. It screams in my ears and assaults me through the weft and warp of all my layers of clothing.
I back into the safety of the shelter. A tree falls across the street and I nervously eye if there are any trees upwind of me. (There aren’t.)
During the summer and early autumn, my forty acres of Southern California worries about Fire. We create firebreaks, and limit what can be burned outside, what can be burned inside, and when anything could be burned at all. We create building codes to withstand Earth first and Fire soon after. Water is a distant thought in the minds of actuaries. No one pays attention to the wind in the way that fish don’t pay attention to water.
Look around, the tourist brochures say. Look around and note how clear and sharp and still our air is. Look and see how far you can see. Don’t look at the healthy mature trees that still fell over by nothing more than wind.
Now prepared for the gust, I step again away from the shelter. The gust slams into my chest and I waver but I do not fall. I hold out my hands so I can experience as much of the wind as I can bear and listen.
«I move. I move far above your fleeting worries and your even faster fleeting successes. I move above your trophies and your marks. I move above your crops and your trash. By my power, I scour the unprepared and the prideful. By my breath, I break your methods of communications and power. I move. But I move so far above you, that you do not know it, and mistake absence of evidence for evidence of lack. Gather your power where [the common man] cannot see. Strengthen yourself in places [the common man] cannot be. Build your momentum away from those who could prepare for your onslaught if they were to know of your preparation, so that when you descend upon your enemies, you make them yield as I have made the trees and the towers, the beasts and the trucks. Do not tarry to gloat over your work. Move.»
The wind ended its statement with a gust that did push me back.
I meant to keep the encounter to myself, but the encounter kept flowing to my hands. Each time I tried to write down the impulse with ink on paper, I kept seeing rigid font upon a glowing screen.
May those with eyes to see, see, and those with ears to hear, listen.