The Wind's Quarter

The storm was howling last night, rattling the grill on the extractor fan in the bathroom. I was woken by the noise three or four times before lapsing into strange dreams of sailing on a roiling, black sea. By the time I left the house at half past six, the wind had ripped the storm clouds away, leaving ragged wisps with ice bright stars visible beyond. I am starting to get used to walking in the dark in the mornings, the beam of my torch picking out the path in front of me which was strewn with broken branches, leaves and conkers as evidence of the night's fury.

Blimey, it was chilly. The nominal temperature on the weather station was five degrees or so, but the wind chill left gave the impression of being well below zero. Winter draws on ...