Maybe on a wind-blown home run.

I've been listening to the wind today. Out on the Sonoran Desert. It was a completely quiet day. Until I heard the wind. Talking to me. In pleasant, meaningful ways. The wind asked me to turn and tilt my head. And to listen. Intently. The wind spoke loudly. And whistled. Directly into my ear. Then the wind mussed up my hair. In a playful way. And whispered. Sweet nothings. Gave me a caress, too. Felt like a feminine touch. With a cooling comfort. Right there on the usually hot desert. It was a cool front. Riding the wind. All the way from Northern California. Tomorrow will be 20 degrees cooler than yesterday. But not the bone-chilling cold I'm used to in Minnesota. Enough for me to don a jacket or sweater. It helps, too, that the wind brought in overcast skies. But no rain. Maybe rain tomorrow. But I hope not. I'm to be at the ballpark. Presumably to see the Cubs beat the White Sox. Maybe on a wind-blown home run. --Jim Broede