Carol and I went on our regular walk at lunch hour, over to Fairhaven and back. The wind was blowing out of the west-northwest, and two red pennants flew from the Wharfinger building: gale warning.

Walking over to Fairhaven wasn’t so bad, with the wind at our backs. Coming back, the wind was full in our faces. On the most exposed parts of the bridges, the gusts were strong enough to noticeably slow my forward progress.

The wind was strong, but bracing. You feel more alive somehow under a clear blue sky when the westerly winds of February are sweeping across land and water. By this point in the season, the cold isn’t nearly so bothersome; instead, it gets your blood moving.

Hours later, as I write this, I can still feel a little hotspot on my right cheek where the flesh is tightest across the bone; a day’s worth of that wind on my face, mixed with inattention on my part, could have brought frostbite. I wish I could have spent the whole day outdoors. It’s not a bad thing to have to pay attention.