It’s ferociously windy, and Storm Gareth is on its way… Here’s something I wrote which is published from the anthology I published with two friends eighteen months ago.
The anthology is called ‘The Moving Dragons Write’ and this is part of a story I wrote for it. I don’t know what genre it is, maybe dystopian fantasy maybe?
The Wind Is My Enemy, The Wind Is My Friend
For a while the wind had been so strong that all I could do was force the door shut, drop the bars across and hope it held. It was a stout door, a round door to fit the entrance, but not quite round enough so the wind could make ingress through a hundred different minute cracks and chinks and tiny holes. I had tried to block them up with a sort of putty made from dirt from the floor and slime from the walls… as soon as I blocked one, another seemed to be there… but maybe they provided ventilation.
There were many kinds of wind, the moaning wind which I felt would drive me mad if it didn’t stop, the buffeting wind which came in lumps as if thrown, the constant ‘sailing wind’ which I could ignore, the shrieking wind like a soul in torment, the balmy gentle wind, the whispering wind and the singing wind – not that I could ever quite catch their whispers and songs…
I remembered reading of Antarctic expeditions centuries ago when the explorers (mad adventurers maybe) would be trapped in their tents for days on end as the… as the… words came back to me, as they sometimes do ‘It is at the steep edge of Antarctica that the strong katabatic winds form as cold air rushes over the land mass…’ Katabatic wind…. katabatic wind… That’s the word, katabatic. I search my memory banks… ‘formed by cold air masses descending on the ice-cap…‘
This wind I had shut the door on was not freezing cold which might have killed me, this wind was merely annoying.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude…
This wasn’t a winter wind, there is no winter, no summer, no seasons here, but this wind was like a winter’s wind, very cold, but not deadly, very annoying… but not as annoying as the moaning wind or the shrieking wind…
Now outside, roaring at my door, it was the sailing wind, and even the sailing wind as I called it, had its own voice; it was consistent, strong, and a medium tone, not screaming or growling… It was tedious but if I shut my eyes at least I could pretend I was on a vessel going somewhere instead of being trapped up here.
© Lois Elsden 2018
If you want to read the rest of the story, here is the link: