Every night the wind comes in through the windows with a roar like a thousand drumbeats, I fall asleep and dream of my dead husband. Adam has been gone for two years now, pitched over the side of our fishing boat, where he’d disappeared (which I was told) with barely a splash . “Punishment” the villagers say,“the sea god’s retribution”. I miss Adam most in the winter, when the rain from the sea slips through the cracks around the windows and the wind moans above the covering of our thatched cottage. The thin woolen blanket holding no comfort against the frost, and the sorrowful cries of the seagulls picking clams along the beach being nothing but echoes of emptiness and misery, These are the times I truly miss my beloved.