Last night was a night of high wind. Through the panes I could see trees careering as if masts on a storm-locked ship. The moon and stars were sharpened by the sheerness of each gust, and the windows of this old house shook and rattled in the midst of the rude invisible assault.

I do like the wind but I fear for fallen trees(on houses) and what the morning may bring - power lines down and shattered branches on the road. Sometimes it feels like a foreign landscape, familiar in some ways yet changed. 

What does Mr Frost have to say about it, I wonder?

Now Close the Windows

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.

It will be long ere the marshes resume,
I will be long ere the earliest bird:
So close the windows and not hear the wind,
But see all wind-stirred.