Wind blowing at twenty to thirty miles per hour through tall pines sounds to me like surf pounding shore--both meditative and restorative to a mind addled and overworked. I sit and listen--just listen. It's rare, this giving in to the senses, making it a prayer.
I seek again a prayerful practice, and it turns out I need go no further than my seat at home to get to this Holy Grail. I look to the slant of sun, the way it drapes on different parts of the house at different times of day. I smell the savor of food prepared by willing hands, made excellent by a desire for something delicious and nourishing. I touch the warmth of tiny hands on the babe in my lap. All prayer.
Taking this further, I'll cultivate presence--mindfulness in my everyday interactions. Ordinary, everyday encounters, ones I take for granted, I'll elevate. Bring understanding and love to the fore--speak only to nurture (I need to work on this). Harbor no resentment. These take real work, and are the beginning of a selflessness that can lead to an outpouring to the stranger, the oppressed, the misunderstood.
Sometimes these people live in our homes, sometimes they live out of our vision, but either way, we're called to see in them family. Not just "them."
Maybe the wind has shifted everything in my current state of mind, shuffled things up a bit, and reminded me that even the most distinct parts of creation can reform us, make us a little more perfect.