“Listen to th’ wind wutherin’ round the house,” she said. “You could bare stand up on the moor if you was out on it tonight.” Mary did not know what “wutherin'” meant until she listened, and then she understood. It must mean that hollow shuddering sort of roar which rushed round and round the house, as if the giant no one could see were buffeting it and beating at the walls and windows to try to break in. But one knew he could not get in, and somehow it made one feel very safe and warm inside a room with a red coal fire.” ~ Frances Hodgson Burnett
“There are always waves on the water. Sometimes they are big, sometimes they are small, and sometimes they are almost imperceptible. The water’s waves are churned up by the winds, which come and go and vary in direction and intensity, just as do the winds of stress and change in our lives, which stir up the waves in our minds.” ~ Jon Kabat-Zinn
A morning of wind, and it gets into everything. Everything. Cold, oppressive, tenacious. The odd thing is that the weather site records no such wind. I don’t know if it suits my mood or merely drives it. Whatever. Whatever it is it is enough. I don’t really care if it is what it is or not, as long as it is enough. And . . . I don’t know where I was headed with that, but I suspect I was just playing with words rather than anything truly meaningful. At times it is hard to tell the difference. Alas, tis a workday. Tomorrow is the good one, the “down day”, when nothing needs doin’ or sayin’ and the cat on the lap and it is a drowsy day throughout, all creature comfort and stuff. I’d almost say that I wish the wind were here tomorrow as well. And a cloudy sky, with a hint of snow, perhaps. A Wuthering Heights feel. Best not push my luck, right? Yeh, right. Time’s up anyway. I don’t know whether to smile or go back to sleep, but tomorrow I have the option of doing both, maybe even all at once.
All is well. Goof gloriously.