Inexplicable Winds

You wouldn't say it was a windy day. But just as I was passing North Terrace House this morning, on my way to a lunch hour concert, a leaf blew up into my hand. No, I didn't catch it, it blew up from the footpath and lodged itself between two of my fingers, which at the time happened to be a exactly a leaf width apart. I thought it quite remarkable.

Later, in the concert hall, listening to the Wind Ensemble, I began to contemplate the inexplicability of winds. This came about because I was trying to match up the composers' intentions as set forth in the program notes with the actual sounds that were coming out of the instruments, and they did not seem to match up.

One of the percussionists was clashing the cymbals very close to her fringe. You would have thought perhaps the wind she created would have moved the fringe but no, it moved her ponytail instead.

They played The Dam Busters march. An old man in the row in front of me tapped his knee in time. Ahh, I thought, it'll soon be Anzac Day. He will probably be weeping by the end. But it was me who had a teary eye when everyone stopped clapping.

On the walk home it was still not windy. The sky was high and grey and a few little spots of rain fell on the footpath which was littered with fallen leaves.

The wind is like music, I thought, and the fallen leaves and gumnuts and blossoms are the applause.

I was pleased with this thought, and it did not matter one bit to me that it made no sense at all.