Winds

Saturday, 20 June 2009
It’s been windy for most of the week here in Edinburgh. I spent a lot of my childhood growing up in the North East of Scotland. Anyone who knows Aberdeenshire will know that one of the constants there is the wind. It blows almost all the time!

I was something of a wild child (no, not sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll!). I mean that I had to be outside all day, every day. Fortunately I had a Mum and Dad who understood me and (in those more care-free days) would let me spend hours out on the moors and the sea cliffs nearby. I would return home with wind-tangled hair and eyes full of the wonders of the outdoors.

For me the wind was a presence. I loved it like I did the sea. Sometimes I would stand on the harbour pier, getting buffeted and scoured through to my bones. Other times I would lie in some fragrant hollow of heather and harebells and listen to the sky larks overhead while the wind breathed warm and soothing on me.

Eventually I moved to other places and although I was often glad that the climate was milder and less wind-driven, I think I always miss the winds.

I love the way the light is changed all the time by the wind scudding the clouds. I love the way leaves sparkle and glitter as the winds tear at them. I love the way a field of barley will look like the waves of the sea as the wind brushes across it. I love the clean smell and sense of wild spaces.

The winds really are the messengers the ancients taught about. They tell us about the places they’ve come from - from pristine Northern wastes to the hot dry Sahara. Swallows get blown in on them in spring and geese battle the headwinds in autumn.

How exciting is that!

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