I Hate The Wind

My father always hated the wind. He could stand for hours in the rain, the cold and the blistering sun but would be in the house in minutes if it was windy. I don't mean a gentle breeze, I mean sustained winds of 12 mph or more. Since the last years of his life he lived on an island in Puget Sound on a hilltop there was plenty of wind. There wasn't a time that I visited that he didn't complain about the wind. Now I have to admit that at the time the wind didn't bother me me all that much but those days are behind me now. In the 11 years since my father died I guess I have aged more than I thought. The wind now cuts right through me and chills me to the bone. Right now it is 53 degrees in Boise but I'm wearing my Carhartt lined work parka to walk the dogs. I can just hear my father as I'm thinking that it is the middle of March damn it and I should be wearing a light jacket to do this. But there is that damned wind. I can hardly wait for Summer with its heat so I can start to complain about the 100 degree days.