an icy wind tore at my face

An icy wind tore at my face bringing tears to my eyes. It raked across my hands turning them red and then purple. Bella and Kabira strained at their leashes, but Spike was in no hurry. We had to take the short and then the long loop, almost getting back to the camper before he did his business. My temper was frayed.

Back at the camper, the fireplace, electric heater AND furnace struggled to warm it up. I pulled a blanket over my shoulders and wished I could dunk myself in the hot coffee… thoughts of being home in a hot bath twined their way into my conscious. I checked the weather. Winds 30km gusting to 50km were forecast for the day. Yuck. Cold I could handle, but wind as well? Not so much fun.

I turned to Carm, “should we go home today?”. It was one day early but suddenly being home seemed like a good idea. We pondered for a while, checked the weather again and made our decision: we’d cut our vacation short.

I just couldn’t bear the thought of all the in’s and out’s with the dogs, the wind battering me. The thought of a long walk with tall, creaky trees overhead did not appeal. Another cold walk in the morning just didn’t seem worth it. I suppose I am just worn out. I’ve been exhausted this whole trip but made myself carry on with everything, somehow dredging the strength from somewhere within... the maelstrom did me in.

So here I am, not so cosy at home. You see we turn the furnace off when we are away so the house is cold - nose running cold, Kabira shivering and getting her outfit on cold. The wind still wails.

And that hot bath? Well, eventually there was enough hot water made so that I could have a good soak.

Camping is over for the year and you might imagine that I’m crying about the onset of winter. But no. This year (as last year), we have a cruise in the Caribbean to look forward to, so I don’t feel despair or depression, not with just 43 days till the next adventure.

“And now, my poor old woman, why are you crying so bitterly? It is autumn. The leaves are falling from the trees like burning tears- the wind howls. Why must you mimic them?”
~Mervyn Peake