Yesterday’s gale was disturbing. It ravished and rocked the trees and bushes as if it would rip them up. It tore leaves, ripped branches off and tossed down a confetti of brittle twiglets. It broke and twisted the tangled branches and screamed through the undergrowth.
It didn’t matter how many layers I had on when I was out in it for it clawed its way through my clothing and penetrated to bone. Pushed pain down my ears and round my teeth with the battering slice of it. My jaw was stiff with cold as I clenched against it.
Draughts rattled through this old house with sickening chill, freezing toes and nose end, even indoors. And I feared for the old tree, bent before it like an aging soldier, the onslaught of wind war showing no mercy. It surely couldn’t take much more. The consistent roar of it frightening and intense.
I watched the forecast hoping for respite.
And then I remember those poor folks in the Philippines and shut up with shame.
How dare we even contemplate whingeing about anything when so many others have suffered so much more?