Time to do.

It's a little after eleven at night; I should be in bed.

The wind has been scouring at us for a few days now. It pulls at the trees, snags at the grass on Hearsall Common and snatches at my coat as I walk to and from Campus. Perhaps it's just me, but I feel a little like Coventry's zephyrs have been buffeting my life while they're at it.

First there was the start of year confusion. Module choices up in the air, the mad rush of sign ups, the preparation for socials, church events and, excitingly, a radio show. New house mates, new house, new kitchen, new routine, new course material, new course structure, new food plan, new sports membership, new buses, new friends.

Then what felt like a mad dash home this weekend gone, exacerbated by the maddening rugby match on Saturday, a mad ceilidh (apologies to those who left with fewer toes than they arrived with, courtesy of my size ten-and-a-half feet...) and a madcap ride home, thanks to some less than useful drivers.

Woven through all of this like the red tape on a H&S assessment, my 'To Do' list (which includes, funnily enough, an H&S assessment). At the last count I had three, not all of them consistent or complete, let alone completed, and there was always something missing. Work, call home, call cousins, email supervisor, tutor, project group, friends, complete these exercises and those notes, join this society (damn, I still haven't got that one done), pay that, cook, mop, sort, file, apply, talk, walk, bike, pack, think, shop, fix, read, sleep, rise, work...

And all the time the wind whistles over the chimney breast in my room. It sings across the pipes in engineering. It throws leaves into the chaplaincy. It snatches at my coat, snags at the grass, pulls at the trees.

Some of my friends believe in a God. Some of them don't. Some of them are quite zealous one way or another. I seem to spend an awful lot of time arguing with myself about exactly what I believe; in fact I'm pretty sure I would have given up on faith altogether if it weren't for the sense of connection I feel with the world around me, and through it with the Creator.

For every time I feel out of breath like this, the wind is there to fill my lungs. The water flows to calm me when I fill up with frustration and anger. The trees rock and creak to remind me that some things were here before I started, and will be here when I finish. The rock we're on keeps on turning, even when I do not.

Words fail – this feeling is a world beater. Time to do.

Tomorrow, at least. It is a little after eleven, after all; I should be in bed.