sticks and wind

The wind hasn't abated, if anything it's got stronger; clacking shutters, making leaves tornado, sending ash spinning in the ashtrays on the tables of café terraces and bashing the blossom from the plum trees in the Square.

Montbel's still waters were agitated into lambs, skittering about a vast blue field.  We sent the sheepdog in among them but he only brought sticks back