Dearie me, my dears, it is fair blowing a hooley outside. I do so hope it does calm down soon for there is nought so disturbing to ones sleep than the thought that the roof will imminently lift. The forecast had not forewarned of such weather and the wind has fair "got up" as the evening has eclipsed. Our dear old home is creaking at the onslaught and the only comfort is the fact that it has withstood similar weather over hundreds of years, and long may that continue.
'Tis times such as these that I fear for our dear little orchard, for the weather this winter can only be described as wet and the ground, as I have aforementioned, is sodden. Experience tells us that this is exactly the time when one loses ancient trees to the vagaries of the weather. We will peer forth on the morrow with anxiety lest our fears are grounded and offer up yet another silent prayer if all is well amidst the orchard.
We are curled up, in our bedchamber, a fine cup of english tea apiece, warm beneath layers of bedding as we wait for the storm to abate. We do so hope that you are safe, warm and comfortable in your homes this night.
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