Yesterday the wind raged, and a storm surge tide tore at the dunes along the shoreline, scattering seaweed and stones onto the road. For hours the wind screamed like a banshee trying to gain entry to the house. It spat rain through locks, rattled windows and drain pipes and howled down the chimneys.
Button and I huddled close together in bed, with the radio and a night-light for comfort. The supernatural force seemingly stronger in the dense black of the night. Voices and music coming through the radio from Manchester, far south, away from the storm, bringing comfort during the sleepless hours.
The old stone house turned "it's shoulder to the wind", standing strong. It had weathered many storms and I knew this would be no different. Just human weakness making me anxious in the dark hours.
Gradually light dawns and the roar of the wind, though strong, holds less fear for me know. I can watch the storm with awe. The waves crashing over the shore, where they would gently lap at the sand and stones.
Hens sheltering among the skeleton bushes in the lea of the wind, scratching for grubs. Once the storm eases I venture out, muffled and mittened, bracing against the wind. Extra rations for them and the barn cat. I'm not coming out again today..... and still the wind roars.
The local news with tales of flood and road closures. No ferry today so children at home. Neighbours phone "Are you OK?". Friendly voices with reassurance. Time to work. The roar of the wind subsides and Button longs to be outdoors, running to the shelter of the trees. But even for her it is too wild and my Orkney cat returns to the warmth of her bed. I gain comfort from a cup of tea. Soon the wind tires and slips away, maybe it too is sleeping in a bed..... waiting to return.....