Our writing inspiration today shall be: the north.
There was a harsh north wind blowing today, which made weeding the strawberries quite unpleasant. Still got a fair amount done, but I'm sure I would have gotten a whole lot further if the weather had been kinder.
The wind does not rest here, never pauses for breath. It scours the land, ridding it of all but the stingiest, hardiest forms of life. Relentless in its pursuit of... whatever it is that it is pursuing. Destruction? Oblivion?
No tree stands straight and tall in this place. Those not bent sideways by the zealous wind buckle beneath snowy burdens, cowering behind the meager protection of eroding boulders.
Once there was warmth in the air. Green things grew and prospered. Flowers scented the air. A city rose from the plains, undaunted by the surrounding mountains.
Now, only a handful of stranglers remain. Fools, every one. The wise have allowed the winds to guide them south, to easier lives. These stubborn men and women, bundled in thick furs and rarely far from Death's grasp, cling to their reasons for standing fast - whatever they may be.
It matters not. Soon, they too shall be gone.
Only the wind shall remain, howling and screaming its way across the frozen earth. Like angry ghosts.
Yes, just like angry ghosts...