Siege

It's been a while since the last assault. You begin to think maybe it has gone away. But, if you listen carefully, you can still hear it moving around outside. You look out the window, and in the pale moonlight you see the trees swaying as it moves through them. A fingernail scratch on a blackboard shiver runs up your back. You instinctively fold your arms across your chest and give yourself a squeeze. There's a hollow howl as it rushes around the house. You know it's going to attack again. It's only a matter of time.

The windows in the dining room rattle. It's changed the direction of its assault again. You've heard it as it's moved around the house, probing, looking for that weak spot which will allow it access; the windows in the lounge, the kitchen, the main bedroom. It's shaken the back door numerous times. It's relentless. If there's a way in, it will find it.

And you know that, sooner or later, you're going to have to confront it. It's not something you like to contemplate - the very idea makes your blood run cold - but, you know it has to be done. Life must go on.

You replay the daily routine of your life. Breakfast, shower, dressing for work. All too soon, it seems, it's daylight, and you find yourself standing at the front door, mentally preparing for the onslaught when you open it. With a final shiver, you hunch your shoulders and step outside.

It comes at you in a rush. It's stronger than you anticipated, and it almost takes your breath away. It attacks your face. Your eyes are watering and closed to slits. You can feeling it tugging at your clothing, yanking at your hair. It's as if it's determined to prevent you reaching that sanctuary which is your car.

It's alive, malevolent, merciless. And it is oh, so cold.

It is the south wind.