In my part of the world, August is the windy month. The traditional custodians of the land recognised this by giving this period its own special name. Many other Aboriginal seasons span more than one month in the European calendar, but not August, which is the time of Wiritjiribin — Tugarah Gunya’marri (cold and windy) in the D’harawal Calendar.
This photo was taken at Currarong, just south of the Shoalhaven River, which marks the southern boundary of D’harawal country and the beginning of the lands of the Yuin nation. I couldn’t find a Yuin calendar, but I imagine the weather this close to D’harawal is not that much different. In any case, coastal lands around the globe are notoriously windy regardless of season, and the wind sculpts both trees and stone.
It etches sand.
And ushers in in a storm.
I like the wind, although not when it whips up stinging sand on a beach, or when it brews into a cyclone. I find it exciting, invigorating.
Many people have found inspiration in the wind. Think of all the songs that mention it. In many of these songs, the wind is synonymous with powerlessness against intractable forces, such as the maelstrom of being famous.
Sometimes the wind offers hope of prevailing against the odds.
And in a song that in many ways defined the social movements of the 1960s, the wind represents the fickleness of justice and the elusiveness of peace.
This is my favourite wind song.
I love this piece of music because it evokes the feelings of hope and excitement that I get on a windswept day in a beautiful place. It sounds like the wind and inspires me to dance as though the wind has lifted me into the sky.
Does the wind inspire you? Or maybe you have another wind song you’d like to share?