Just like a dream.
Inside this great universal cycle, I somewhat lost sense of November. Somebody said there was nearly something wrong with the system... African air filled November. The island warmed, for a moment, to suspended meaning of summer - the very one we never felt on the island!
Last Sunday felt so weird when I stood in the middle of my sand-bridge. Warm air currents flowing around as if they ignored the meaning of winter...
And now it's time to re-enter the spirit of winter.
|Entrance to the Café, with terrace |
Now we really feel back in winter.
Stormdays follow storm nights.
The sky turns black by mid afternoon and empties itself in horizontal style. Tucked inside my oilskin, I haste each pace. Roof tiles dance without shame - the marine forecast reads hideous. I pray our local fishermen moored their vessels in safe havens until wind speed recedes and blows a moment of respite. We are accustomed to the gales. They come, hiss and go. The island turns a ghost rock. The safest place remains by the hearth. So little light lets you glimpse though the edge of the storm. Our avian friends, wren, robin and blackbird, remain tucked in between the stones of our neighbours' wall. They sometimes perch on the ramskull that crowns Richard's totem, as if they wished to defy each outburst of the storm. However, their act of resilience does not last long. Safety on the ground prevails. The forecasters issued an Amber alert for wind for tomorrow with brighter skies... I keep an eye on the windsock. Rain remains rain as long as winds blow from a southerly direction. Should they veer N or NW-N, I will salute the first snowflakes of the season. My heart's puzzled. They're late this year.
The shipping forecast reads back to more seasonal expectations.
Let's go back to Kate's Words for Snow. "Flegme des neiges, Mistral despair... Terror blizzard - creaky-creaky"