march arrives

The sun returns and it's like white-out. So bright and unfamiliar. The wind's still there, reminding us not to get too cozy. Not to think, for an instant, that we're out of the woods yet. 

Sometimes I don't put my headphones in. I just walk and my soundtrack is the sound of winter on the coast. The howl and its echo, the static crackle of the ubiquitous sea, the scraping of windswept detritus along the road; these things fill my ears. 

People talk about the darkness, the cold, the wet, but they rarely speak the sound of winter. It is a symphony, wild and eclectic. The songs are elemental and percussive. Rain battering stone, waves crashing, wind hammering and howling. 

Soon the birds will sing again. That's when Spring arrives, with its own tune.