The Wind is in you, the wind is in me

I am part of the wind. Growing up in Lubbock makes you that way. You sense a change in the seasons not by temperature, but by drops and rises in the wind. Winter is dead. The wind blows south with the birds, leaving the days clear and sunny. December through February the wind has become a breeze. The breeze is cool and reassuring. Without wind, the world would be terribly wrong. If I woke up to a still morning and opened my blinds to see the trees limp, I would think that we finally did it—we finally did something so horrible that shifted earth patterns irreversibly into a different way of life altogether. And if I stared out my window and the heavy branches of the elm tree did not move, did not lift its leaves, I would think we are not ready for this.
We are not ready to change so drastically.