'Thar She Blows

It's blowing in the Pacific Northwest tonight.

Great gusts of wind throw clouds across the sky, enthusiastically herding them toward the mountains like Shelties herding sheep.

Trees bend dangerously. Like a man stressed beyond his breaking point, they're close to snapping and falling. Weaker branches shear away and skitter across the roof, gremlins feeding after midnight.

Rain splatters against the windows and reverses direction every few seconds.

Ventilation covers dance like the high hats underscoring the blues playing on the radio. Asphalt shingles rise and fall, testing the currents, ready to follow geese flying south.

Electric wires keep time erractically following their own rhythms, flapping and flopping to the beat of changing pressure and shifting temperatures. The lights flicker in response...nervously giggling before an impending crisis. Blackout?

And the wind wraps around the house, howling threats through the pet door. Dorothy Gale's twister promises to get the little pretties, and their little dog too. Fortunately, everyone's inside and safe...and perhaps stirring a bit nervously, like a chandelier (or a vodka martini) unexpectedly shaken.

The house feels strange, unsure how to respond. Should it hunker down? Be uncomfortable? Nervous? Scared? Is this how a Christmas present feels inside the wrapping? Does it wonder if the opening will be gentle or a torrent of shredded paper, flying willy-nilly at the whim of the wind.

It's blowing in the Pacific Northwest tonight.

My wife is home, safe and sound. My daughter sleeps the sleep of the innocent, secure in the knowledge that whatever happens, we'll face it together, as a family. A family blown by hard winds at times, but surviving through the strength of our love for (and our connections to) each other.