My winter home

Wild weather happening.

The winter solstice is two days away. Most people would prefer warmer, calmer summer weather. But even though the days are short and a cold wind brings in squalls of weather from low pressure systems in the Southern Ocean, a warm fire in a well built house is all that I require for a memorable engagement with the place I call home.

Earlier, while lying in bed a weak dawn light vainly tried to make visible the many sounds that came in the night; of wind and rain and snapping branches. The pantry door, itself, spoke of the intensity of the storm as it slammed open and shut because of the difference in air pressure sucking in and out of wall vents.

Later, I find myself sitting by the French Doors with a morning coffee watching what was unfolding. However, the thin pane of glass protecting me from the elements also acted like an invisible cloak of separation between the inner world of fireside comfort and the more visceral experience of what was really going on just beyond the overhanging porch roof.

In a moment of “who gives a fuck if the floor gets wet”, I open French doors towards frothing Roaring Beach. This allows me a ring side seat in a warm house while outside in the arena all manner of wind, flying debris, squalls and surging waves pummel everything. Now, this is nature at it’s powerful best.