60 MPH Winds

60 MPH winds.  That is what is screeching through my bedroom windows (my beautiful, picture windows, larger that my armspan.  That are set in the wall of my second story room, on this three-story-plus-finished-basement colonial house.).  Whipping the trees all around campus into a frenzy.  Pounding into the speaker of my phone, so Mum asks if I am standing outside in the rain as I walk back from rehearsal.  It was 50 MPH winds earlier, tugging whisps of my hair from my neat bun.  Blowing against my bag-o-books and making it strain against my shoulder.  Driving autumn-gilded leaves and menacing clouds across the sky.

It's beautiful.  And loud.  And it feels so perfect tonight.  Because this is exactly how my life has been lately. . . gale force winds.  Everything blowing everywhere, and pressurepressurepressure.  Tonight I had rehearsal at 7.  And rehearsal at 7.  Two different choreographers, two different pieces, styles, and rehearsal locations. . . then I had rehearsal at 8, for a third somebody.  And rehearsal at 9. . .

Exams, tests, quizzes, journal entries, homework, reading, notes, notes, NOTES.  choreography, new choreography, dance journal.  Gym. Trainers.  Creating blogs, giving tours, maintaing websites, attending club meetings, sending club-and-business emails.  office work.  memorizing lines.

A whirlwind life.  But I like whirlwinds.  I like the music they make.  I suppose tonight could be described as having "howling winds."  Howling seems negative and frightening, though.  Though it is loud and tumultuous it's also natural, carry-you-away music.  And  I find it so intriguing, what a windy day does to people. . . who hunches their shoulders and tucks their head and scuttles along.  Who marches purposefully, scarf fluttering behind them, rain boots briskly chewing up sidewalk.  The ballerina's bun pulled piece-by-piece apart, until strands of hair tumble loose around her face.  The couples where one person walks slightly ahead, his body shielding hers as she presses to her side, neither of them cognizant of their positioning.

So to I find a melodic feel to this hasty, crazy life.  Rehearsal-to-rehearsal, meals hastily grabbed in between.  Showering while reviewing history dates, stretching with a script in my lap, always having my cell phone, id/room key, a pencil, and a highlighter before starting the day.  A few quite minutes, stolen in a corner of the kitchen as my roommate sleeps floors above, a phone held close to my ear, a stillness finally letting my tight shoulder lower.

For now I will dance in the wind.