Martin Dougherty lay in bed awakened by the wind howling outside. But now it was only 3 a.m. and still in bed he listened to the wind that woke him. It was coming in gusts, some stronger than others but all enough to merit recognition. Half awake, it was as if he had moved to another world. No point in getting up. No way was he going out to the patio in this! Repeated wooden crashes from the gate outside slamming open and shut; the syncopated calling from the swaying trees that warned of the strength of the approaching gusts; and the occasional slapping of branches against windows and walls.
The swaying trees were telling him that this world would not tolerate the comforts of his previous world, and that life would never again be the same. No, the wind would remind him that the status quo had been shaken and that the world would never again be easy. No rain, just fierce noise and the threat of the unknown. The wind carried with it the unknown and the foreshadowing of change.
Wind is felt; wind is heard; and wind is experienced. Martin lay in bed feeling the intensity, listening to the sounds and experiencing the mystical yet angry wind, trying to interpret the meaning. The inner shaman in Martin failed to provide solace in his interpretation. What was yet to come was unknown, but he knew that it would continue to include memories of what was past. Memories that alternated from precious to heartbreaking and foreshadowing a future that remained terrifying.
Oh how he wished that Karen was there in bed beside him! He wanted to turn to her and see if the wind had awakened her. He wanted to go back to the mountains with her. She enjoyed it as much as he did, but that was not to be. No one deserved to die that young, especially her.
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