Menacing Gods and Silence

The outside is restless, keeps trying to get into the house. The interior rattles; door in door frame, the cat-flap in front door, and all round the house the sound of that troubled, restless wind, a ceaseless noise that contradictorily seems to define a certain kind of silence.
Perhaps it is a silence of the day. I hear nothing that indicates the presence of people. There is just the wind, and the light (it changes even the bulb of the table lamp I am writing by) - it all seems infused with those days of very early autumn, those dark, breezy mornings, the afternoons full of menacing gods.
I hear the sound of something now - one of the workshops opening - or the sound of a back door in Drurys Coffee Shop being slid back. I can't tell if its the wind though. I listen carefully.
Nothing but the wind that defines silence again.