At the moment Storm Ciara is bringing havoc to the gardens and rooftops in the neighbourhood, which reminded me of my favourite piece of 'windy' writing. Many writers include storms or hurricanes in their novels, which may or may not have a symbolic function–the chaos of the weather matching the turmoil experienced by one or more characters, or they might simply be a vehicle for fun. They feature in everything from James Clavell's Tai Pan to A. A. Milne's The House at Pooh Corner, but the one that really sticks in my memory is in The Candle in the Wind, the fourth novel in T. H. White's The Once and Future King (William Collins and Sons Co. Ltd., 1973). Here's an extract:

'It was blowing round the castle on all the organ stops. The noises it made sounded like inchoate masses of silk being pulled through trees, as we pull hair through a comb–like heaps of sand pouring on fine sand from a scoop–like gigantic linens being torn–like drums in distant battle–like an endless snake switching through the world's undergrowth of trees and houses–like old men sighing, and women howling and wolves running...
'...Under the doors of the castle the piercing blasts tortured the flapping rushes of the floors. They boo'ed in the tubes of the corkscrew stairs, rattled the wooden shutters, whined shrilly through the shot windows, stirred the cold tapestries in frigid undulations, searched for backbones.'

If you can find a copy of this edition, the quotes are from pages 659 to 660, but the whole four novels are a complete delight that can make me laugh out loud or cry. Blowing '... on all the organ stops', 'boo'ed in the tubes of the corkscrew stairs', 'searched for backbones' ... how I wish I'd thought of those, not that I haven't had a try at writing about windy days. Here's an extract from my attempt, titled 'Weather or Not', which won the fantasy section of 2016's The Binnacle Ultra-shorts Annual Competition:

'He did not go to marvel at nature. Titus walked in defiance of wind and rain to exercise his control in the face of chaos, armed only with a neatly furled umbrella that opened with a snap of civilisation. The weather had no power to send him scurrying.
'The shipping forecast played itself in his head as a gusty wind spat rain against his cheek. Titus shook out his umbrella. A moment later a hill-walker watched the suited figure gain height over the sea.'

Okay, it isn't King Lear raging against the storm, but I never did claim to be Shakespeare. I hope you get a chance to enjoy this blustery day with a good book.