The last weekend of the archival elements of the year.

Hi, the last weekend of the March month of archival remnants here on the blog, something explained here.

Archival remnant no 29 catalogue no MX758

What is the name of that Stephen King film where a group of hastily assembled, vigilante sheriffs stand over the dead men, stretch their arms horizontally above them, raise one leg horizontally behind, them in a pose reminiscent of the angel in yoga, and bring them back to life?

No, I don’t know either, and I don’t think it’s worth a trawl through the internet to find out because it was something I dreamnt last night.

Just before the dream flipped into the episode with the puzzle salt-pot, an intriguing mechanism that involved a random yet preordained system of piercing pepper bubbles with an internal spike.

What’s a pepper bubble?

You may well ask.

Welcome to my night.

The bed where I sleep is high in the house, and the house is high on a hill and the hill is on the edge of a valley that runs north south.

And last night the wind roared along that valley and up and over the house.

And then around and around the house as if it was intent on entering.

Which it did, and then, without beg or leave, into my dreams.

The wind is raging still, but I have long given up sleep.

I have spoken of this wind before, around these parts it has a name and much is attributed to it.

It is said that if you commit a murder when the wind is howling, no local court will find you guilty; because the locals of these parts understand.

It is not recommended to be alone with this wind and your thoughts.

I am.

This wind is the only creature I will speak to today, and I will say this.

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! 
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout 
Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!
 You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
 Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, 
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, 
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! 
Crack nature's molds, all germens spill at once 
That make ingrateful man!