The winds started after breaking my fast, rising with the early glittering rays of the sun, initial foot soldiers of the tempest to come. The bunker would hold, as it has each day of the autumnal season. I checked the perimeter, reassuring myself all the bulwarks stood firm. Soon the winds would bring snow and bury my bunker, a protective layer beneath a blanket of ice, a buffer from the onslaught of wind. After that, when the cold has seeped into my bones, I’ll look forward to the winds, chinooks, snow eaters to remove the ice and let me venture out for the few weeks of summer, the calm season, and a chance to prepare for the season of winds to return.