I remember my first encounter with a tumbleweed tornado as a child. I wasn’t afraid. I was mesmerized.
I’m no Brick Tamland, the weatherman from “Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy.” I can’t articulate the differences between a dust devil, a hurricane, a cyclone, or a tornado. Let’s say there’s more to it than the difference in size, duration, or location. It’s science, okay? For our purposes here, I’m just going to call what’s technically a “dust devil” a mini tornado. Generally, my idea of a mini tornado spins and spits tumbleweeds, sticks, dirt, rocks, a plastic bag, dust…to name just a few possibilities. It’s unruly like a fallen firehose, and it could put an eye out. My limited understanding is that hurricanes formed over water can last for days or weeks, while tornadoes can last from minutes to hours.
With an assortment of debris caught up in its vortex, the “mini tornado” in our lives has been ongoing for several years. I’m counting on its stoppage. It has too, right? Right? Buh-bye, you devilish, toilet swirl; let’s get you flushed in a flash. I will accept a more gradual petering out, if necessary. But get going already.
Today, I gained a new perspective and a promise as I ran repeated flights of stairs (my current, acceptable cardio alternative to riding my bike). As I was descending, I noticed a mini tornado lift off from the black pavement in the road just below a Jacaranda tree. I saw the moment it started, and as Ron Burgundy said, it escalated quickly.
The mini tornado began collecting only the lavender petals that had been resting on the street since falling from the tree. I watched the tiny twister spin and grow as it gathered more flowers, dancing like poetry in motion as it rose before vanishing. The tornado consisted solely of delicate, pale purple petals, containing nothing sharp or harmful.
As a child at the fair, I remember watching pink cotton candy being spun in the glass case and anticipating the taste. It grew and grew until it was nearly a solid, airy unit of sweetness, and then it was offered to my little hand.
Today, I was mesmerized again by a benevolent force that wants me to know there’s no reason to be afraid—ever—and to see these few moments as a foreshadowing of things to come: a promise of the beautiful floating bouquet that I can reach out and take with my little hand. Perhaps these broken flowers will be the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen, and maybe my heart will just cave in.