We've been to the edges of our little island. Such cold and windy days, we have to be careful from falling straight into the sea. On these daredevil patches of land and rock and sand, I try to open my eyes to it. The gusts, the force, the might. I stand on a field of baby white flowers, they barely notice it. It's all I can do to keep upright.
Even on our road on a mild spring day, the wind knocks us back on the balls of our feet. There's a breeze INSIDE my house, my friend says, and she speaks truth. Rattling our windows and moving our curtains. The wind here is wild. My hair here is wild.
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