Just past midnight, the wind is getting louder and louder. And ever more blustery. Through the closed shutters, it sounds like a summer storm. Yet, it is winter. Or what passes as winter. The bluster is thus exciting, if a bit disconcerting. And perhaps even alarming. What if the storm starts raging? What if the roof tiles start flying? What if this is but a foretaste of the storms that will fall upon us by the summer? Or what passes as summer. Unsure of any of these questions, confused by one’s own experiences, one wishes for a real storm. The mother of all storms. That is, a definite answer.