Last night on WCOM, I was not only the brief poet guest, but I was also the weatherman or at least the weather reader. I can’t remember all about the four days or so of weather prediction that I read. It was handed to me quickly. But I do know that the current weather (for last night) included a bit about the wind speed. None of the later reportlets did. But as a reader, I kept looking for some symmetry in the writing. There were highs and lows. Sunny or cloudy. Not the word breeze or windy after the first time mentioned. At the end, I said something like “no word on wind.” I can’t quite recall exactly. Others who heard did recall, but no one quite had the same story. I’m less interested in that it was me doing the talking and more interested in what different people heard. My son thought I was too emotional about the weather. Another friend was kinder, she said I was dry — seems right for weather this week. Perhaps I was breezy as well.
In related news, Phil Meyer points us to Andrew Postman’s tribute/essay to his father on the 20th anniversary of the publication of “Amusing Ourselves to Death.”