windstorm

Last night the wind howled all night at a constant roar with little variation and no letup. Poised as we are, five floors up and directly on the water, there was nothing between us and the wind. It was as if our apartment building was a tiny stone at the bottom of a vast rushing river of wind. Every time I woke up in the night, all I could hear was the same roar, and I slept well knowing that I was warm and safe inside while nature ripped into Iceland as best she could just outside the glass.

This morning the storm was still going full-tilt as we awoke. It was 7:30 and pitch black outside, and when I went to the window there was confectioners' sugar snow blowing sideways under the streetlights. The drive to work along the seashore road was a tad hair-raising, with frozen-over patches of sea spray clinging to the asphalt, topped by a dry-ice fog of sideways-blowing snow. A couple more mornings like this one and I'll be off to see my all-knowing Icelandic tire guy to get some spiked shoes for the ole RAV4.