My life has always been about the wind.

Wind tousling my mother’s hair halfway across the high wire over Niagara Falls as she tells my father she is pregnant with me. 

Cold ocean wind knocking me down as I take my first steps on the Coney Island Boardwalk.

Wind making the flame of my father’s lighter dance around the tip of his cigar after a successful walk. 

Angry Oklahoma tornado wind shredding the big top and shattering the windows of our circus trailer into a thousand teeth that bite my bare feet as we run for shelter. 

Wind muffling the curses of my parents when I refuse to cross a twelve-foot length of rope strung a mere three feet above the ground.

The Devil’s Breath of the Santa Ana winds blowing my parents, hand-in-hand, from their thin line in the desert sky.

Wind carrying their ashes up to a place where they no longer need the bounce of the high wire to make them feel like they are flying. 

Wind accepting the prayers to Saint Julian that slip from my lips the first time I walk alone without a net.

Wind whipping the cheers of a thousand people into a cacophony of adulation when I make it safely to the other side.

Wind lifting my wife’s veil for me on our wedding day. 

Wind blowing streams of dandelion fluff from the bouquet my daughter picks for me on Father’s Day. 

And now the wind that blows all of the moments from my life away and raises the cries of the crowd gathered below up past me like a flock of mourning doves wailing as I fall.