The Weather in the Waves

The weather from the bedroom window looked sunny and clear. The wind was very quiet. In retrospect, too quiet. We walked to the end of the farm road and as we did so, saw the grey cloud over the ocean. It muffled the sound of the waves. Only after we were on the return leg of our walk and the cloud had moved closer to us could we see the deep grey rolling waves of the ocean. A storm was coming. How big and how soon was not immediately apparent. The waves take their own time in coming.

The deepest waves are more quiet than the scuddering white caps or the short, heavy seas that sob their way to shore like La Larona, chronically weeping for her lost love.

By the time I was leaving Thurso at the end of the working day, the waves were great, grey rollers seeming to come from the very bottom of the sea. They broke in white froth, still several feet tall, and looked for all the world to me like the gnashing of teeth.

I shuddered with the thought as well as the cold wet wind and hurried home. The "near gale force" winds tugged at the wheel as I drove home. The weather was no worse here but the wind was huffing unabated off the ocean. It had already wreaked havoc with the mesh and plastic construction I put in place yesterday. It was designed only to curb a flirtation with an early frost. I reassembled the mesh and boards and set about securing them with rocks--which are never far from hand up here. I worked quickly against the cold that bit into my hands and the wind that seemed always one step ahead of me. I watched resolute as the first rocks--only the size of my hand but dense granite were rolled off as if they were a pebble. More rocks. Larger--two-handed rocks only would do.

The cats peered cautiously at me from the protection of the garage. Only Solomon would venture out of the safety of the walls. Even he was skittish. As a kitten, he shook as the winds soughed around the house.

And then to the house--power still on but for how long? Can't say, so I am writing fast. The water that appears in the corridor when the wind blows like this is back again. It has been "fixed" --oh, perhaps three or four different times now. I sigh and put the bucket in place. For now that is all I can do.