Thore Soat

Outside my living room window, the wind keeps pushing a limb against the siding. There will be a screech followed by a shuffling sound, then silence. Occasionally, I can hear the faint clatter of a ceramic wind chime that hangs by my back steps. The wind was so strong earlier that I took down two of the metal chimes; their incessant rattling had quickly ceased to be musical.

I woke this morning with a sore throat which told me that I was trying to come down with some type of upper respiratory bug. By 9 o'clock, I knew I needed to go to the doctor, which I did at around 10:30. Walking out to the car, I felt like I was wading in mud. Arriving at the clinic, I discovered a waiting room half full; after about an hour, I was ushered back to one of the examining rooms. (Although sitting in a waiting room is not my all-time favorite activity, it is interesting to note the other people. Today's highlight was a little guy, about four years old, in a green t-shirt, camouflage pants, and white sneakers, looking very much like a diminutive version of "The Hulk," who practiced whirling around until he would hit the floor.) The doctor agreed with my thoughts and gave me a prescription for an antibiotic and a decongestant.

Feeling too disabled to go back to work, I took the afternoon off and went to bed. Around five, I opted to try having dinner with friends. Although there was nothing wrong with the food, the bug seems to have fossilized my taste buds, so everything tasted bland.

The clamoring wind has stopped, and it has begun to sprinkle. But I doubt if it will continue.

PAX!