Words in the Wind

Scientists say that the ability to speak developed in our ancestors some 400,000 years ago. Their evidence appeared to be in engineering; the little hole in the back of the skull, the hypo-glossal canal through which fibers of nerves attach to the tongue, is larger in early humans than in other species. Hence the scientific explanation of our decidedly more articulate speech. So as speech divides us from the animals also does it divide us from each other.

We speak in different languages, and even when speaking the same language, we often don't communicate, and when we do, we often don't truly mean what we say. Promises can be nothing more than words and oaths empty air, especially in election years.

Words can support, they can heal, they can cut like a knife.


English is the official language of aviation, and all air traffic control transmissions, worldwide, are supposed to be in English (of course, one man's English is another pilots' "Say Again??")

But conversation itself in aviation is regulated somewhat. Below 10,000 feet above the ground or while moving about on the ground, there is to be no conversation outside of what is required to operate the airplane on a commercial flight. But on long flights aloft, and sitting on the ground waiting for people or bags, all checklists and duties completed, the conversation often moves to the personal.

At one airport in the West, on a transport trip out of there, we heard, on ground control, what appeared to be a conversation between crew members, slightly muffled as if they're not speaking into any microphone, but a mic is picking it up. A youthful voice, likely the First Officer, is talking about his girlfriend and how much fun they had over the weekend, where they ate, the movie they saw, etc, etc. He then asks the other pilot "So, you got anyone special?"


No one can get a word in edgewise to tell these guys they're transmitting in the blind, as they've completely blocked the frequency, we can all just sit back and listen to the impending train wreck.

The captain responds". Naw, man. . I've been having this .. .um. . . uh. . . problem, man. Just can't get it up anymore. . . (sigh). . it sucks" as he goes into detail on his er. . ."condition." (this was years before Viagra mind you)

Finally, the controller breaks through with a stern "Gentlemen !! check your MICS. We've been listening to someone talking for the last 5 minutes on ground control !!!"

Deathly silence reigns after the blast from Ground.

Then, some anonymous pilot chimes in with "Sorry about your dick, man. "

Howling laughter in all cockpits.

Words, a movement of lips and tongue, that can cause laughter or pain, that can divide or conquer. Even in a nation where English is the official language, in parts of our country, there are whole neighborhoods where you won't hear it spoken.

Yet, sometimes one doesn't need to speak at all.

h/t to Suzette for the hands photo, source unknown.

When disaster strike, the land itself turns mute and those that remain, stand simply as silent instruments unable to make a sound.

An old woman, standing in front of what remains of her house of 50 years, nothing, left, not even a photo. She cries, silently and wet, in a faded housecoat, as a neighbor puts his arms around her.

A pregnant young woman, her face growing older by the minute, wanders through the wreckage, clutching only a photo, making pathways between what now is only unknown.

The old and the young, looking at the work of their sweat and tears strewn about for miles, the wind thick and warm, like blood spilled, pooling around what little remains. A lone tree stands, its nervous branches bent down as if hoping not to be noticed.


Moving in and around, the firefighters, EMS, LEO's, volunteers, wearing blue and black and yellow. Such garments, solemnly worn, exchanged for lives that used to be ordinary, worn as they shape something from chaos, coercing that terrible blood wind to give up a sound, the forlorn echo of someone who might have survived underneath the rubble.

Survivors and saviors, moving without sound, sending a message as loudly to the sky as if they were one voice. There is no language for this, no words, it's defiant and imminent life, holding on.