I'ts a cold blustery Good Friday here on the West Coast.

The wind is whistling through my front door and the branches of the tree outside are tapping the window pane.

I could light a fire and stay curled up in a blanket with my favourite book.

Play a track from a Loreena McKennit cd and let the world go by.

It's that kind of day.

The kind of day that says connect to my roots, tap into the ancient part of myself, that wild wise Celtic woman who says "listen the wind is speaking"