Amazingly enough, the sound here is similar to the sound at home in high wind. There it's the wind in the pines. Here it's the wind and the ocean. It makes me want to be outdoors, my cheeks flushed, walking against the wind so that I can get pushed along by it on the way back. The sound that clears the cobwebs out of my head. The sound that roars around the house while the fire glows in the woodstoves. And occasional puffs of smoke, like fog, wrap themselves around the snug little house in the trees. I'm missing home. I'm wanting to go and clean and thow out junk and make the little house cozier still. Which makes me think of cobwebs again, the ones in my head. I'm wanting to go down to my cabin for the morning and light the little LP heater and listen to wind blowing around it. Dorothy. The house that lifts and flies off to somewhere new and strange and technicolor. The writing that does the same. Working until the voices of the characters, the places, come alive in technicolor of their own.