A Wind from the South

I must confess to having taken a certain perverse pleasure in knowing that our weather was milder than down south where they were suffering dreadfully cold temperatures. I also knew both that it could not last and that my hubris would have consequences. That's the logic of living as sons and daughters of the Grey Coast--the ocean that moderates our temperature likes to play rough with the winds.

I knew as soon as I herd the Shipping Forecast that something was coming. In the factual recitation of the winds came the tell tale--possible Gale Force 8. The wind was getting up to something out there at sea and she'd be coming our way soon.

She made landfall in the night. I woke to her huffing and puffing and hurling rain spatters at the window. I was content to let her run around because I could spend the day tucked inside--with two exceptions--breakfast and dinner for my cats. It is not a long distance from the house to the dairy maid's cottage, which the cats have as their communal dining room and sometime dormitory.

I didn't expect to see faithful Solomon sitting in the window ledge--cats and rain don't mix well, but I knew he was out there and hungry, so I bundled up in my husband's hat and coat, collected the crunchers for the cats and opened the door. The cats tumbled across the threshold--propelled as much by hunger as by the wind. I made a sprint for the cottage, put down their food, and hurried back to the house.

The temperature, if measured on its own, would still be moderate, but the wind has brought all the cold from the south here. That's what I get for being selfish.