When the weather is wet and wild and wintry, it's winds we worry about. Cyclones and hurricanes have caused such terrible tragedies that we can never be sure whether or not the next wild, lashing storm will uproot a tree, unroof the house, or defeather our chickens.

Winds have such a bad reputation that the second circle of Hell is a violent storm; a whirlwind, where the souls of those who yielded to lust are blown endlessly to and fro, without hope of rest, for all eternity.

But winds also have much kinder moods. Who, on a roasting summer day, has not blessed seeing a leaf stir or a flower nod and then felt the soothing pleasure of that first breeze brushing one's skin?

Winds can also be beautiful. Flute and horn sound melodious as does that finest of all musical instruments to control the air of the wind, the human voice.

And when we see a cotton thread quiver near the mouth of a sleeping babe we realise that this, too, is a wind but the very gentlest it can ever possibly be.