As I sit here the wind howls; the clouds race across the sky like skaters on a pond; the big pine trees make a rushing noise. The moon has been bright in the sky but tonight it competes with the clouds being pushed around by the winds.
The position of our house is at the edge of valley, the ridge line I often write about. The wind travels up and down this valley as it is a natural trough to follow. The edge is mostly flat and sloping gradually down towards the river valley below, miles and miles of open pasture land the the flat terrain of the river for miles more. On the other side of the valley the ridge line is mostly bare of leaves giving little resistance to the wind. Tonight it has also brought squalls of snow moving almost side to side and swirling around the trees and lamp post and rocks and polishing the icy coating that is left on the yard from the melt of the day.
I have come to love the sound of the wind in the night as they travel past. Sounding slightly hollow as it loops around the house. I can tell what windows aren't fully latched by the sound of the wind as it whistle a special pitch. The back yard is lined with thick pines so while it rushes in, it has to find another way out, usually up and over the tops of the trees
In the summer the soothing constant breeze. In the winter it has a bite but year round it seems to have personality. In my minds eye it is much like a mammoth ghost. Dashing to and fro, swirling around houses and getting lost in the thick pine trees but them popping out again further down. Flying above the valley up along the river to Mount Greylock in the far north, joining its fellow winds and the racing back down to the south. In the morning it is all clear. The leftovers of falling branches and twigs mark that it was here but the wind is usually long gone to other parts.