I walked stiffly (‘We’re a couple of old crocs, he said at breakfast.) but was grateful for the relative stillness and quiet. I anticipate the storm with some anxiety. This house takes it full force, the windows feel as it they are go to blow in and the bath on the landing rattles. He is far more sanguine but then he’s had over seventy years experience of living in this sometime sea-battered town. I like and relish the wildness of the sea, but I am also in awe of its possibilities. But the wind is a different matter. What can I say except it isn’t and never should be all about us? It has its role, its place and it will do as it must. It makes me feel vulnerable. But that is as it ought to be. The birds are strangely quiet too, they know what is coming, though I did hear the pip-pipping of a lone oystercatcher from the dark that was the sea this morning.
Oh, keep us safe. Let there be no lives loss, no injuries or more loss of power. We are at your mercy. Be kind.
