Sometimes I try to tell the weather by the way the sky looks through my window. This tactic generally works best in the summer, when sunshine reliably correlates with warmth. Today I listened to the forecast– in the wind that sounded like it would blow, blow, blow our house down. After taking care of the morning’s tasks in the village, back in the house I boiled water for mate. I watched the steam rise from the teapot’s blowhole created by the lid’s missing handle, forceful like the viento outside.