windstorm ovenbird The Pacific Northwest winter brings cyclonic windstorms. There’s no snow for those of us who live our lives with our toes in the Pacific Ocean. Instead, low pressure systems send gusts that pile the air up in drifts against the buildings. The night brings a blizzard of white noise, pounding the windows with explosive fists. I can’t sleep with all that air shaking the walls and shouting obscenities at the passing ships. I lie awake waiting for something big and bad to blow my house down. I’m a morsel of meat, barely a mouthful for the wolves stalking the sky’s ridges. I built this house one brick at a time but I’m not sure I can call it home. The night ends in an ominous stillness and I think I can hear the storm breathing outside. I stand and shiver and walk into the cruel mouth of the morning. 251217 what's it to you? who go blather from