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I wasn't ready for the wind.

Usually, I am. Portland gets plenty of it; the Columbia River Gorge gets even more, as does the Oregon Coast. The wind is partly why the Columbia River Bar is dangerous enough that ship captains based in Astoria get helicoptered onto ships before they enter the river, to more safely guide them through. (That will not be my next job.) I lived with lots of wind in Southern California, with the Santa Anas that are adding to the scary fire conditions down there now.

Here in Portland this week, the wind's been heavy. Heavier than normal. Not Santa Ana-level, but a lot. It's caused a lot of noise.

It's also made Portland colder than I wanted it to be, this part of December. I realized the wind was damping down my desire to get outside; it was kind of a mental effort to do so. I've tried to make light of the wind — say that it is the air showing off, saying "Look! I can do this!" — but that hasn't made the wind light. Shoot.

I am managing to get out, for errands (I walked to and from the supermarket this afternoon) or for, say, time at the café nearby or at other establishments. Last night I got to the SE 50th and Powell Taco Bell; I don't know how often people at Taco Bell read poetry, but I increased that number by 1 by bringing a library copy of poems by Wisława Szymborska. There. Reading in shelter. That's easy to do.

I'll get over this. I'll be excited by wind again. I'll feel good about it some other time. And keep bundled up. My green knit cap is now getting used, this season.