Whoosh
At our Nest in Seward this weekend. A glorious bluesky day, chilly, with a punitive wind out of the north. Good day to slip on the ol’ Dearfoams (mine are knockoffs) and toss an extra log or two into the wood stove. Not a flake of snow on the ground in town, though plenty high above
The dog is asleep on the couch; Happy Wife is flipping through the pages of a magazine. The only sounds are the tink tink of the wood stove box, expanding and contracting, and the incessant wind outside fighting through the break of tall evergreens that give us shelter from the north. The sound of wind in the trees has elsewhere been described as melodious, salubrious — Psithurism. Not the one I’m hearing. This one has the temper of a Comanche Warrior come to avenge the death of his leader.
Fear not, however, there’s a nearly full bottle of Sapphire gin on the counter, plenty of olives in the fridge, a high stack of dry wood, over 2 Gigs left on our data plan this month, which resets tomorrow, and so… imagine, if you will, two blissfully schnockered Alaskans and their black dog nestled into the love couch streaming season 3 episodes of Longmire waiting for the Black Bean and Butternut casserole in the oven to finish baking.
Let the vengeful wind howl. We’ve nothing to fear.