A kind of winning - by Heather Heying - Natural Selections

A strangely warm but decidedly fierce October storm came in during the night, whipping up both sea and air into a frenzy. The wind gusts and swirls, and even the trees are rocking back and forth, yet it was totally dry and 25° above freezing even early this morning, when things are usually at their coldest. Now, though, now the rain has come. It beats at the windows, streaks flowing across the glass at angles that change by the minute. Most of the birds have stopped trying to fly in this surge, but three gulls are out there. Three gulls fighting the wind, stalled but aloft. Three gulls who are not winning by the usual metrics, but they are not exactly losing, either. They are holding steady. In winds this strong and erratic, one can hardly be expected to make progress. Holding steady in a storm like this is, I suppose, a kind of winning. I returned this week to one of the most haunting lyrics I know, sang it on DarkHorse, even, where we discussed the oeuvre of Roger Waters and of Pink

A strangely warm but decidedly fierce October storm came in during the night, whipping up both sea and air into a frenzy. The wind gusts and swirls, and even the trees are rocking back and forth, yet it was totally dry and 25° above freezing even early this morning, when things are usually at their coldest. Now, though, now the rain has come. It beats at the windows, streaks flowing across the glass at angles that change by the minute. Most of the birds have stopped trying to fly in this surge, but three gulls are out there. Three gulls fighting the wind, stalled but aloft. Three gulls who are