The other day, the wind blew in across the lough from the east, ruffling up turbulent white crests on water coloured a menacing blue-grey under the low cloud. The wind whined under my front door and chilled the sea-facing rooms in the house as I huddled up to the fire for the first time this winter. People hurried past my house, clad in warm coats, with numb faces. Occasional bouts of rain slanted across my window-panes as the afternoon wore on. Dusk came early and out there on the Copeland Islands, the lighthouse began its long, regular probe into the gloom. These are some of my favourite moments, savouring the weather from indoors in a way I rarely want to do in the outdoor warmth of summer, watching freighters head out of the lough into the storm, hearing the invisible wind, keeping the fire well lit, sensing the hours go by.