This morning, the world woke me far too early. I’d gone to bed at four, and when the sweeping, rushing noise started outside my window, I was not impressed. I dragged myself out of bed ready to scold whatever — or whoever — was disturbing my precious sleep. But when I stepped outside, the first rays of sun were just beginning to paint the horizon. I stood there, half awake, half annoyed, trying to locate the source of the noise. And then I realised: it was the wind. Bloody wind. How dare it wake me up. But as it moved around me, brushing against my skin, lifting the tiny hairs on my arms, something softened. It felt strangely intimate — like an unexpected visit from someone you love, arriving at the most inconvenient moment, and yet somehow you can’t bring yourself to send them away. So, I stayed there for a moment, letting the wind wrap itself around me, letting the morning light settle on my face. My irritation dissolved into something quieter, gentler. A reminder, maybe, that not every interruption is an intrusion. Sometimes it’s an invitation. I went back to bed after that. I didn’t fall asleep again, but I lay there listening to the sweeping rush of my unexpected visitor, appreciating the way life taps us on the shoulder when we least want it — and sometimes, when we most need it.


