I first heard it as I regained consciousness from a sound night's sleep. I thought the nearby Air Force base was flying training runs in the early hours. It wasn't until I drug myself out of bed and stumbled to the coffee pot that the true source of the sound manifested it's way into my brain. As the coffee brewed, I leaned against the counter and, in my groggy mind, hoped it would be a tailwind.
It was still quite dark as I slung a leg over my bike and pushed off for my morning commute. As I rode through the neighborhoods making my way to the gym, the presence of the wind made itself eerily known. It was too dark to see it blowing the trees about. I was sheltered by the houses and could not feel it. But the sound - oh the sound. It was veritable roar as it rushed overhead. It sounded like the echo of an angry giant. I cringed and pedaled on. Hoping to escape its notice.
When I left the gym, daylight was starting to dawn. I stopped a moment to gaze upon the James River and the tempest into which it had been thrown. In the daylight, I no longer feared it, but instead was simply grateful it was to my back.