Saturday, October 04, 2008

And the Wind Lingers

The worst of the gale has passed--the hail, the little plumps of rain, the long grey clouds hovering just above ground level--were not much more than inconveniences this time. But the wind lingers. Not the fierce unrelenting throbbing of the full gale, but now a persistent, stronger than normal, gusting with cold behind it wind that tells me that winter is staking its claim.

I have tried more or less successfully to ignore the closing in of the light. The long days of summer softly gave way to twilights and later dawnings. We can and do have wind in every season up here. A friend once commented that the best description of Caithness is the place where the winds begin. I think from time to time of Odysseus traveling to the cave of winds. I think that was to appease Poseidon, but no one is likely to write a saga about walking to the car or collecting the mail in this cave of winds. On some days it feels like a heroic effort.

The winter wind is the most formidable of all the season's winds because it carries a deadly chill. The wind blowing off the north sea is always cold, but the winter wind has a distinct bite. It manages to cut through the most dedicated layering of clothes. Even with a hat scrunched down about my eyes and a scarf pulled up to my nose, the wind can bring tears to my eyes.

Now after three bouts of shingles, I fear the wind even more. The cold winds can trigger the post herpetic neuralgia--the self-induced antics of the trigeminal nerve on the side of my face. For as fond as I am of my new home, I have spent the worst of each of the winters away from here and as the wind blusters around the house for the fourth day in a row, it is beginning to seem like a good idea.


At 5:23 PM, Blogger TerriRainer said...

Burrrrrr, I would imagine as much as the "wind goes sweeping down the plains" here in Oklahoma, it's NOT blowing in off off the sea, so doesn't carry the same chill!

Hang in there and hopefully your health will not decline this year.

:) Terri

At 4:28 PM, Anonymous ampiggy said...

Should I send you a ski mask as an early Christmas present?

At 5:55 PM, Blogger The Curmudgeon said...

It seems so alien to me. Watching the storm over the sea, knowing it is moving in, and only on its own timetable.

And yet I remember being out in the country where the horizon is pretty far distant and watching a smudge form in the distance and knowing it was a thunderstorm blowing up. But these didn't take a lot of time. They pretty much charged right across the prairie....

At 8:57 AM, Blogger landgirl said...

Hi,Terri, usually the wind in Oklahoma makes me think about the show songs, which I quite like. Not realistic but great fun to sing.

At 8:58 AM, Blogger landgirl said...

Oh, ampiggy, thank you for kind offer. I am going to knit something--my first attempt at something that I thought could be worn in public was--a mistake, to put it mildly but I have another idea. I'll knit it upo ans soon as I finish this latest round of things.

At 9:01 AM, Blogger landgirl said...

Hullo, Cur, weather always moves in its own timetable and I miss watching the thunderstorms gather in the distance on the prairie. Someone years ago once said that the only pleasure she took in an inland landscape was watching those storms. She had incredible photos of them--looming clouds, great cracks of lightning so bright it still made you sigh even in a photograph tamed in a frame hung to the wall.


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