Winter Wind

The wind is howling tonight, gusting so hard that it can not only be heard but felt as it shakes the house.  It is the type of wind that may cause me to find that the ambient temperature in my room when I wake tomorrow is less than 50, in spite of the thermostat being set to 65.  What good is one little heater against the fury of such a wind, seeping in any crack it can find, furious at the small creatures who dare to try to shut it out, determined to find them in spite of walls and windows and join them in its misery.

While the sun is setting, this same wind lifts the snow, playing with it, making artistic designs with sun and shadow.

Once the sun disappears, though, the wind begins to howl in rage and loneliness at its abandonment.

Hearing it howl I am always reminded of this sonnet by Shakespeare:

Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.


Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most freindship if feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.


Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky,
That does not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As a friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most freindship if feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.