When I step outside, the midday air is frigid and preternaturally still.
I don’t need a forecast to know a windstorm is brewing.
The weak December sun shines through a thin milky veil,
giving zero warmth to my upturned face.
Billowing white wisps of cloud skirt the horizon.
Their gentle symmetry belies what is to come.
I see my breath float in the cold tranquility
as I stand on my frost-covered deck,
scarcely believing it will be +5C by morning.
Nothing makes a sound.
…an eerie sense of what is impending looms,
a premonition of the gathering gale
far out at sea..
…and with it, the inevitability
of this quiet calm
vanishing by nightfall.
*Travel Theme: “Still”@wheresmybackpack.com