My first walks at our new address on Windwood Trace were in the dead of winter. I discovered quickly how well the street was named. Biting cold wind blew through every layer and turned my nose into an icicle. I wondered if this wind would blow so well in the summer. We’ve been here a year now, and I can vouch that during any season we seldom have a day without the wind.
Logic would say the wind came from the deciduous trees that circle the land or the stand of longleaf pine on the other side of the street, but the wind is often strongest in the open area with no visible indication of its presence. Jesus even commented on this phenomenon when he said the wind blew where it wished, adding that we hear the sound but we don’t know where it comes from or where it is going.
On my favorite days when a gentle warm sun shines down and I am engulfing by a welcome breeze, I hear Mama’s voice reading Christina Rosseti’s poem:
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.
My daughter gave me a wind chime tuned to “Simple Gifts” for Mother’s Day. The wind plays music on it during the day and the nights are few when it fails to provide a lullaby to send me to sleep.
I like to think the person who named our street noticed its tendency to be windy and honored the trees that spread across the land. In any case, it makes me happy to live on an aptly named street like Windwood Trace.