The one good thing about having the flu is that I get to stay in out of the cold wet day and don sweat pants and a massive shapeless old woollen cardigan that hangs below my knees and I get to drink tea and listen to Bach. From my stance at the table I can safely admire the sky that is a dark and sullen grey and I am allowed to glean much delight from the tiny birds who still manage to take advantage of the bird feeders as they dangle precariously from the ash tree. The ash tree is bare now, last nights gale took care of that and I can't help but think that the tree that I love has taken on a strangely elegant air as it sways like a tall candelabra bracing itself against the relentless wind.
The wind comes in unpredicatable gusts. There is a brief lull and then gush and howl it beats down around the house again with what I imagine to be like a powerful anger throwing itself on the land. The cello softens, it hushes the walls, soothes and eases me along this November day.
Hubby took the dogs out for a walk, by the ocean. I do miss that, the idea of walking along with our heads down as the salt from the sea stains our skin and the rain drenches parts where raincoats do not protect. Umbrellas would be redundant today, no, to venture outdoors today would mean only one thing and that would be to accept a thorough soaking.
Despite my cold I am making dinner tonight. Sunday is a perfect day for Organic Roast Chicken rubbed with butter and lots of lemon juice. My mother's stuffing, simple but delicious is a mixture of good breadcrumbs, onions, melted butter, fresh thyme and salt and black pepper, sometimes I add parsley if I happen to have it which I do because I have the kindest butcher in the world who always throws in a large bag for free. The aromas will draw this house together.
Even so, for all this cosy musing I can't help but think about the homes who do not have this dinner on the table tonight or any other night for that matter. Those who cannot sit at a table and simply gaze out at the sky or listen to music that haunts the senses and when they hear the wind that tears at the world, how it must seem to them that it will never stop and even when it does, they still continue to hear it.