The Northerlies.

A fresh northerly has been rattling the windows for about three days. Whitecaps abound on the Sakonnet, coursing seaward and building as they past the camp. There is only limited fetch here, so they do not get really huge. Perhaps if all were well it might be a pleasure to run before them and haul off towards Buzzard's Bay or in the opposite direction, toward Long Island Sound, so long as you could plot a course along the lee shore. These northerlies are nothing compared to those of December and the winter, winters when you can walk or skate across the salt marshes. This mortherly is aharbinger of what's soon to come, but without the numbing conviction of sub-freezing weather with it. Just standing outside, right now, with temperatures in the low 50s, gives me a deep chill. It won't be long now. Where we--our house--sit now is uninsulated, atop a mountain of stone where we are exposed to miles of unobstructed Canadian wind. My daughter is excited by the prospect of snow and cold while I, speaking for myself, am content to wait as long as I can hold out at very least, for the inevitable. When the sun comes out, the water is a dazzling blue and when, as it is mostly today, the low clouds obscure the sky, the water surface is a more foreboding green-gray hue