High howling winds here in Colorado. Eyes water. Apple blossoms blizzard around the garden. A friend recalls that loud, forceful winds like these drove the isolated settler women (and some men) of the Great Plains to suicide as they took refuge in their dark dirt cabins. Willa Cather’s novel, O Pioneers; Dorothy Scarborough’s The Wind.
Once upon a time in France, I’m told, you could be acquitted of murder, if the deed took place while you were driven mad by the mistral.