Any Sign, Lord.
Oh, yeah. It's another courtyard wind and smoking story. Part of it, anyway.
I felt like Steve Martin in The Man with Two Brains. The moment I placed the cigarette between my lips to light it, the wind started tearing it away with gale force. My beloved Zippo ceased to function. I gripped the unlit cigarette in the right corner of my mouth in a grimace--I smoke out of the side of my mouth, after being teased for centering it when I was younger--and struggled to create a flame.
In the mean time, the wind was doing its work on my shirt. When I walked outside, the wind plucked at the sheer polyester, but as I seated myself, it converted the front of it into a great sail. The harmless two-button space I had afforded myself was a vast cavern full of air, black lace, and breasts. It took me a few moments too long to notice it, and make the conscious decision to stop lighting my smoke and batten down the hatches.
The two guys on the bench beside me returned my dreadful glances with very friendly smiles. Unfortunately, they weren't as forthcoming with working lighters, so I had to wander and beg.
As soon as I snubbed out the butt of that smoke, the wind died down. Bastard Nature.
The world is only as magical as a person perceives it to be. There was a time when every moment in the natural world transcended coincidence for me, and every creature that crossed my path was a portent. A day like today would be interpreted as a direct message from a higher power.
I no longer feel the truth of such things. I wonder if the quality of my life has diminished because I do not feel connected to my world, or powerful within it. I have a head full of science to justify everything. I qualify the relevance of what I see on a narrow spectrum. The data is normalized and the outliers are discarded.
What is the mathematical constant for the human spirit? I seem to have forgotten to carry a one, somewhere.
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