The wind came down from mountains cold,J.R.R. Tolkein
And like a tide it roared and rolled.
The branches groaned, the forest moaned,
And leaves were laid upon the mould.
The wind up here is intense. All day long it’s been roaring, churning in from the dark mountains in mighty, thunderous waves that crash against our trees, buffeting them about. The spindly things are so tall and stilt-like, I'm amazed they can withstand it. Swaying about wildly, thrown this way and that, they emit primal creaks and groans that make me slightly nervous about being so small and vulnerable beneath them. I hope they are stronger than they look!
I really enjoy our dramatic windy weather up here on the hill—I find it stirring to the imagination, and my mind is swept away to sea, Moby Dick-style. While our fake battery-operated candles flicker against the coming twilight, I pretend we are in the cabin of a ship on a great voyage. In the storm that rages all around, the almighty wind and awe-inspiring waves reign supreme. We're but a tiny speck in a vast and mighty ocean.
Tonight, as an all-consuming darkness falls, and a ghostly howling wind surrounds us and our camp, I feel simultaneously insignificant and irreplaceably integral in the great adventure that is life.