I was in Kenya over the weekend to visit Colin at Kijabe. The place certainly lives up to its name with the way the wind wuthers around the old buildings every morning and evening. I half expected to see Heathcliff out on the moor when I looked out the window. What a noise!
I bought a winter jacket when we first moved to Portugal in 2000 and I was glad I had it along for that little strip of Kenyan highland that runs along the top of the escarpment. The vastness of the landscape with its steep drop to the broad Rift Valley floor would have, no doubt, inspired Ms. Emily equally as well as anything she ever found in Yorkshire.
The wuthering and the blathering... These two words have been on my mind. I think they have a lot in common.
I hope, some how, that as I continue to grow, I'm learning to listen more and more.
(Colin, by the way, is doing nicely. He smiles his boyish smile, the one that squeezes his eyes up into little half moons, and the world around him seems to settle and sigh as if reminded that "all manner of things shall be well.")