He Sings To Me

After days of silence he is finally back. In the velvety stillness of an autumn evening all I can hear is the mesmerizing call of his voice. He can be brash and his ferocity whips everything around him in a frenzy of motion. Where he comes from and where he goes to, nobody knows. Here one minute and gone the next – as elusive as a mystery.

  

But when he lingers and I lie in bed waiting for sleep to come, then he sings to  me. Like the legendary sirens, he sings to me, wishing to lure me out into his frantic arms, tossing me hither and thither and doing with me what he will. Because he is none other than the mighty north-west wind. The wind with majesty in his voice; the one we call the majjistral (pronounced mayyistraal) – my favourite wind, the one that lifts my mood.

Just a whimsical tribute to my muse - the NW wind.

Photos from my archives - taken from our house on a day very similar to today  in November 2008.