ODD PAPERS

Southland Times, Issue 19123, 15 December 1923, Page 9 (Supplement)

ODD PAPERS

WHAT’S TN THE WIND?

(By

R.R.).

I have been sitting listening to the wind, and I feel I must write about it. For 1 quite a period we have had a series of intermittent days of wind, and > this is one of them. I am not sure that a strong wind is conducive to wisdom, no'r even to work. More often it produces whims and weariness. But there is a world of witchery about the wind. The vzind, the wandering wind of the golden summer eves — Whence is the thrilling magic Of its' times amongst the leaves? Oh, is it from the waters. Or from the long, tall grass? - Or is it from the hollow rocks Through which its breathings pass? There is nothing so erratic as the wind. It bloweth where it listeth. For all our modern science, we know not whence it cometh nor whither it goeth. The wind is a vagrant quantity, fitful, unsettled, fantastic, a sturdy, roguish vagabond, wandering from place to place, ai\d with no settled habitation nor home. And how various it is. It conies as a gentle zephyr, whispering of love and peace. It caresses the tall grass as it passes, and kisses the smooth stream into a puckered smile. Or it comes wailing through the woods, moaning in melancholy mood, as though it mourned the departing summer days, or wailed the despair of some lost and dying soul. Or, the wind is a mischievous elf, as it sallies forth in gay and gleeful riot, flapping and fluttering every waving ribbon, and the dress of the passer by. It frolics and laughs in mirthful sport, chasing and banging empty tins, like happy children do. Hiding behind fences and corners, it bursts out on the people who pass, playing every conceivable prank on everybody, and laughi ing in madcap merry glee. Or, again, there is a rythmic melody in the stirring wind, a vibrant harmony and soulful sound that is melting and sweet. Yes, the wind makes majestic music as it blows, using the forest trees for its orchestra, whereon it plays mighty symphonies. And there is many a whistling, flute-like cadence, branching off into vagrant airs, or swelling into strange and glorious harmonies, until the branches of the trees bend themselves as musicians to their instruments, in some grand and overpowering crescendo, the crashing thunder of Nature’s mighty music. Or, again, the wind is a wild and cruel thing, savage, inhuman, merciless, as it rouses itself to the mood of battle. Then

“the stormy winds do blow,” blustering, freezing, piercing, cursing. Then is it the foe to human kind, and knows no moderation. Whether on sea or land; the wind can be a horrible thing, fierce and awful in its exultation or agony, and we listen with bated breath to the crash of its tremendous energy, in the loud, long, frenzied rage of desperate and titanic conflict. But the wind to-day is warm and mirthful. It rose from a gentle murmur, a breath of breeze, to a gale. But it is the wind in hilarious mood, sportive and jocund. It blows as a merry jest, palpable and strong. It is almost strong enough to-lean up against. What a wilful wind it is, and what ludicrous prankish capers it cuts. When it started it was but a mild sport. But as it increased with each gust, the windows creaked and rattled, the iron on the

roofs squeaked and grated harshly, even the houses strained to keep their shape, and the tugging tree branches swayed wildly, and made frantic movements, like the crazy and barbaric movements of\ some whirling scarecrow dance.

As for the moveable things, outside, the dead and fallen leaves, bits of strewn rubbish, and pieces of paper, and even much more solid substances, they had an exciting time. They were picked up by the wind, and twisted and turned, they were harried and hurried about from one sheltering cover to another, only to be routed out by the next skirmishing gust. Finally they grey tired of the game of hide and seek, and ran out, and went flying gaily down the road, with the wind in wild pursuit.

But the wind has its vagaries very often in less apparent aspects, and they are not always pleasing. For instance, our first acquaintance with the wind in the days of infancy was as a colic, and called for homely physic to ease its woes And often, in later days, we have learned “tp get the wind up” in a psychological sense and without any evident movement of the elements. In school days we learned about the “trade winds,” and their useful influence upon commerce. Whatever value they may have in the Torrid Zone, I feel perfectly sure that in our milder clime, the winds as often drive trade away' as bring it. We have all seen people who were “three sheets in the wind” without any accompanying atmospheric gale. And have we not known some awful experiences of tyrannous and devastating havoc to arise from wind instruments, even including the bagpipes, when there was no apparent tempestuous disturbance elsewhere? Again, I think we have long xsince learned to beware of “windy” people, the individuals who are prosy and preachy, and are for ever “laming us something.”

shaped by the prevailing wind. The manuka and the pines, and even the gorse, point their branches and slope their stems away down the gale. In nearly every place where winds prevail, the results are apparent.

Even Invercargill has its windy evidences. The drifting sand dunes, the bleak bleatings of the beach, and the Estuary embellishments, that have called forth so much corporative and educational energy, are all so many explicit, evidences of the modifying power of the breeze. And so of other places. On the bare and driven slopes of land you may easily guess the drift of the great gales (hat sweep over the landscape. Or in a strong wind you may go out, and sometimes even see this shaping going on. And you can see the paper-like bark being torn from some of the trees. The tattered fragments flutter, ahd swing for a moment at the join of the old and the new. Then the wind gets a sudden purchase, and there is a flash, as the severed bark careers away, leaving the surface stripped and bare, and the new, underlying rind shines out, a virgin thing.

But it is a more serious matter when the wind leaves its marks upon men and women. I believe there are a good many people who go to pieces between wind and weather. Of course, there are some constitutions that are hardy and stand up to it well. I have lived in a rugged Scandinavian set.telment, and have seen those sturdy people, lean and lank, but strong. Their toughened, wiry build, and their wrinkled and parchment features, bore eloquent testimony to the struggle with storm and tempest. And we have all seen weather-beaten sailors who never mind “a bit of a breeze.” But we c-annot, all be sailors. It is not every constitution that can stand up to the bracing effect of a hurricane. There are some people who are always “crotchety”

when the wind blows for long. It seems to make some of us “nervy” and “on edge.” I have read somewhere of a king who always made cruel laws when the wind blew from the East. If we knew more of the psychology of bistory, perhaps we should discover there is a morality in the wind, or maybe an immorality. It is possible that many of the great and tragic events of history are due to the fact that the weather vane was pointing in the wrong direction. By the same reasoning it is quite possible also that some men could not help being good.

Let the moralists bawl as they like about the supremacy of character, wj are none thd less very largely creatures of circumstance. I think the wind may be responsible for a good many things. A whirlwind has some* times taken away from a man other things besides his hat. It is time we turned our microscopes upon the balmy breezes, and made an exhaustive study of the science of the wind. I think we should discover more there than microbes. The wind has driven some people to madness. If we knew more about it, it might teach us to mend manners and our men.