"There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands' necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge."
Raymond Chandler, "Red Wind."
It was actually a cold, lake effect wind. I went out looking for an apartment, and found a near perfect one. While battling a lingering virus, hormones, and a rare migraine aura. (Very pretty with bright glowing pulsating lights in an inverted C in my lower right visual field.) My new friend, my rental agent, not only drove me to my place to get my meds, and would have gladly have put it off another day, she also dropped me back home, and picked up D to finish the process.
She and I took pictures of this over accessorized goose.
The owl is stone.
There were snow flurries. Hard, bitter, persistent winds.