Blown away

After a calm but spookily cloudy morning, somebody let the winds out of their bag. Walking by myself in the early afternoon was a bit frightening, as the gusts were nearly fifty mph, and the larger trees were bending and shedding branches. A woman at the climbing gym said she'd been running in a nearby park and saw a huge maple tree that had crashed across the path. She said she had to climb over and through it to continue her run. By the time I headed home, it had mostly calmed down again. March is behaving like a lamb on steroids.
Finished a novel by Jeanette Winterson titled Oranges Aren't the Only Fruit, strange little autobiographical novel, according to the blurb. I liked her next novel better, The Passion, but the former was at least intelligent.