Wind And Ice

Today as I look out the window here at Nicholsville West Farm, the sky is grey and the wind is blowing a gale. The trees are wavering back and forth and somehow everything looks dull and drab. Hubby is off hunting with the "company", Daughter #1 is in the kitchen making cookies for the craft sale next week and Daughter #2 has a friend here for the afternoon. I'm just going to sit here a while and fool around on the computer. I'm not really in any mood to do anything artsie. I think it is the wind.

For days now the wind has been blowing steady and while generally, I don't mind wind, today somehow it seems to be disturbing my peace of mind. Sometimes it sounds like the roof is going to lift off. I remember growing up in Newfoundland, wind was a constant and in those days I would cuddle in my bed at night grateful for a roof over my head and a safe place to hide away from the howling gales that swept the shores of that province. I didn't mind it and listened to the sounds of those gales and passed peacefully into sleep listening to its lullaby.

Now, I hear nothing of those dulcet tones that rocked me to sleep in my youth. Now I hear the constant drone of the wind and think about how I hate to go out in this stormy blast. I wait for the wind to die so that peace of this lovely farm and valley returns once again. I look out the window and see that the wind has swept over the lingering snow and turned everything into a hard packed surface of ice. I dread going out in it because the one thing that I don't like about living here is that the snow is never shoveled to the ground surface below. We also have an unanticipated problem... the snow that falls off the roof falls right into the path that leads from the driveway to the steps. Just this afternoon I went out to pick up Daughter #1 from a horseback riding lesson and when I came home I walked across the uneven ice that has formed on the path and down I went skinning out my knee and ruining a perfectly good pair of jeans! Harrumph!

I would much prefer the soft lovely flakes of snow drifting lazily to the ground on a peaceful hot cocoa day. I could sit and watch those flakes in their hypnotic fall as I knit on my lace gloves or card rolags for my jacket commission. But here I sit with neither hot chocolate, gloves, or hand carders. I just stare at the hard grey sky with thoughts of happier times, and wish for a moment of peace.