Don't be so poetic!

During our Sunday breakfast my husband asked me: “What are you looking at?”

I was looking through the window. It was a bright sunny morning, not so common in the UK. The sun was shining after two days of the dreary rain. There was no haze, no dust, no patches of fog. The weather was perfect, apart from one detail – strong gusts of winter wind.

“I’m looking at the wind” – I answered. Trees bowed down before this wind like before the king. The wind jerked them, as they had done something unforgivable, and so they lost their last yellow leaves. It was a scary battle outside between the element and Saturday night’s remains. The air was bombed by plastic bags, glass bottles, tins, paper cups and take away boxes. This view made me sad and disgusted. 

“You are unable to see the wind” – my husband said and after a couple of seconds he added ironically: “You are just looking at the trees outside. Don't be so poetic!” 

So I stopped being so poetic. We finished our breakfast in silence, sipping our coffees and smiling at each other. When he set off to fulfill his duties in his air club I washed dishes, put on my shoes and went out for a walk. In my head I kept hearing his amused voice: “You are unable to see the wind”. I couldn’t believe that it was said by the person who deals with the wind every time he flies as a pilot or every time he sails as a steersman. I reminded myself the time when he taught me how to recognize the wind’s directions. It was ten or maybe twelve years ago when we sailed together the first time for me. He showed me the waves on the lake, he asked me to close my eyes and feel the wind on my face, he taught me how to use the wind to lead a boat and achieve a target. That time I realized that the wind is not only touchable and visible but also colourful. 

From that time I observe that the wind has different colours every day. It depends on the weather, time of the day and other circumstances. Sometimes it is grey or green, sometimes white close to colourless but still visible. A couple of days ago it was red as blood in the morning and dark crimson in the afternoon. This morning it was yellow, not bright yellow despite the fact that the sun was shining so beautifully, but rather sand yellow, a little bit dirty and not uniform.

“Have you ever seen the blue wind?” – I asked aloud.

“No, never” – the voice answered.

“Neither have I” - I said with sureness that this will happen one day.