I am rattled by wind. It blows my hair, of course, which is not just annoying but dangerous (what if it blows away the few remaining wisps?). Even when appropriately dressed (which for me means both a hat and a hood over my head and a warm, wide scarf wound from nose to chest to muffle me from the cold)—even then I am rattled by wind.
It's more than the physical effect. It's the endlessness of it. The restlessness. The fear that it will never, ever stop. Certainly there are places in the world renowned for wind, where indeed it never does stop. If I were in the mood to move from this city, one of the first things I would investigate about a prospective site is the wind level. Cheyenne, Wyoming, is definitely out as a potential place to live (and that's without even considering the politics).
Please don't get me started on the wind tunnel effect caused by tall buildings. In my view, architects and engineers should be forced by law to live in the path of the fierce gales caused by their buildings.
They call the wind Maria. Oh, the restless wind. Such songs are not for me. I want to sit in a sheltered corner and bask in the sun. When I walk suddenly around a corner and discover a non-windy, sheltered spot, the relief is palpable. It's like when a rumbling truck noise that has seemed to be permanent suddenly comes to an end, bringing peace to body and mind.