Last night, while lying in bed trying to get to sleep, the wind was roaring around the street. It was so loud that I couldn’t help but wonder if the roof, under which I was lying, was going to just lift off and fly away. I had brief visions of me in Oz, skipping down a yellow brick road in red sparkly heals, but I think i am probably more witch than Dorothy.
It’s been like this for over a week now, the stormy skies are enjoying themselves, blusteringly blowing and whipping scarves, skirts and coats into whimsical and uncontrollable frenzies. At times just walking turns into an adventure and cycling is only for the very brave.
And since the wind enjoys playing with abandoned items the streets are filled with gaily dancing plastic bags and joyfully rolling tins. Random socks, knickers and other smaller garments free themselves from clotheslines and are gone with the wind.
I do enjoy the wind, it dusts off all those gloomy thoughts, wakes you up and creates interesting hairdos, but when it forces the smoke back down my chimney it only makes my eyes water. But I know the wind will blow itself away eventually and until then I will just decide to enjoy these windy times.
Kites rise highest against the wind – not with it.