Tonight in the wind

There is nothing like the dispassionate force of a forty mile and hour gale coming off the sea. In the daytime it beats up the waves into foam, blinding white on the deep Prussian blue of the water. At night it has the monotonous roar of a furnace, black noise, it must be, rushing through the cove and bending our 100 ft spruce, testing its shallow roots every time it blows like this. And to think that there might be people at sea on a night like this, chopping ice off rigging, hurrying with stiff fingers to re-fasten everything the wind has torn loose: I pray for them, even though I'm not a church-going person. Our house feels firm, made of big blocks, founded on stone, with good storm windows, but I am daunted by that wind. I will not be going out much until it stops. When I do put on my heavy coat, gloves and scarf to fetch wood, or get the mail, I can feel the wind strip the power out of my body like a vampire. When I return it takes an hour to get warm again. I long for the simple spring sunshine that tips us over the edge of summer– not so much even to make me take off my coat, but just to know that there exists a force that will not kill me if I am not careful. Good night. Stay warm.