It's blowing a hooley. The stormy weather started up yesterday afternoon, raged all night and is still chucking sea salt at our balcony plants this morning.
The old man pied piper of cats is out there, wading into the gale, the wind tugging at his clothes. He's making his usual stops to distribute some tasty cat food. 6 or 8 cats this morning. He leans down to pet some of them as they gather around his legs. He must be the only human the feral cats trust to touch them. Some follow him, bouncing along the pavement, on and off the curb, weaving round the fence posts, as he labours into the stormy blast.
Teenagers at the busstop take turns to run out of its shelter and make aeroplane shapes; leaning on the wind as it accelerates up the rock wall from the beach.
The eucalypts, scalped in the Spring, have grown back long thin streamers of whippy branches and leaves. They are flowing, horizontal. Struggling to depart, or hanging on for dear life?
Flags are straining at their moorings. Satellite dishes and TV aerials are wobbling frantically. The sea is sending great curling waves crashing foaming onto the headlands.
It's wild out there and F says I have to go to the office today?
Is she mad?!