Today is a day of high winds. I cut short my ride but not before dodging fallen garbage bins and gusts that felt like the shove of an invisible giant. Even my daily walk was challenging, with dust. leaves and stray papers assaulting me from all angles. 

There are things about windy days that I really like though. There is a constant jostling of things, rattling of windows, pell-mell of funnel and rush. Robert Frost, in Now Close The Windows, wrote,

'Now close the windows and hush all the fields:

If the trees must let them silently toss;

No bird is singing now, and if there is,

Be it my loss'

for Frost craves a silence and yet, wants to 'see all wind-stirred.'

I can hear the caterwauling through my windows, never mind them being closed.

Further to matters of poetry, I read today at the BBC the Belarus is banning some poems from the 19th Century because they are extremist. In the spite of the fragility of that nation's dictator, Heinrich Comb-Over (surely Alexander Lukashenko) I will publish the details. Just so anyone who wants to can read them.

Vincent Dunin-Martsinkevich's,  'The Winds are Floating' and 'Conversation of an Elderly Man'

Pass them on.