Breezes atop Winding Ridge blow most days, but on Sunday afternoons I pay better attention. I watch sunshine peeking through windows and casting shadows on the wood walls; I contemplate more of what’s important and less of what’s impending in the upcoming week. My older son and his wife have attended the funeral of a 34-year-old friend who leaves a wife and two children to face life without him. That’s a bitter pill in this life, but will we treat our spouse with more love and appreciation in the everyday happenings of life a few days from now? We are such forgetful creatures. But for right now, on this ridge where I live, the stirrings of love for my husband of 41 years blow over me and remind me to love with gale force.