Tag Archives: storm


out into the rain I dash.
A flash
Of lightening.
The sky, for a moment brightening
And me wondering
Whether I will survive the thundering
As my guide dog’s harness is part steel,
So its really not ideal …

My guide dog needed to pay a call of nature earlier this evening. While I was aware of the rain, I was not cognisant of the storm which suddenly broke overhead. Had I been aware, I certainly would have remained safely indoors! As it was, all ended well.


Virgin white sheets.

His icey feet.

Two bodies meet.

“Why are you never warm?

I feel a storm coming.

I see dark clouds.

Do you hear the thunder’s voice angry and loud?

But no. though the sky is forlorn,

There will be no storm.

The weather needs to break.

This humidity I can not take.

I long for the cooling rain.

It will cleanse my fevered brain.

No, please,

your rough paws I do not need!”


Autumn Wind

The wind gusting, mocking order, laughing at our pretentions. Our sterile lives shaken, purified by your mighty breath.

Like sand you slip through our fingers, beyond control. Certainties shaken. Life giver and destroyer. Bringer of freedom, turning the world upside down.

At My Window

Standing at my open living room window. A flash of lightening followed, soon afterwards by the angry thunder eclipsing, momentarily the incessant patter of the rain.

Branches russle, the wild wind like a passionate, half crazed lover wraps me in her wild embrace. I revel in her untamed grasp, long to go with her yet fear letting go.

Beyond the noisy elements birds sing and, imperceptibly, summer dwindles towards it’s close.

Waiting for the Storm

Sitting here waiting. The sound of distant traffic interspersed with fireworks. London waits but for what? A storm which will uproot mighty oaks which have stood unmolested for centuries surviving all that the elements have thrown at them. Public transport in chaos, not leaves but whole trees on the line. Confused commuters milling around in search of that most elusive of objects – a train! Wind buffeting pedestrians. Street signs sway precariously. An overturned rubbish bin rolls merrily down hill.

Or perhaps it will pass London by. Perhaps. London waits, holds it’s breath waiting for the storm.

Waiting for the Rain

Lethargy holds sway. People mop their brows, move reluctantly onwards trying in vain to escape the deadening blanket of heat. Like a giant hand held too close to the face the heat stops our breath, we gasp longing for the blessed rain.

The over heated brain yearns for quiet, a shady nook in which to find relief from the myriad thoughts and fears that pervade it, but the rain when it comes is warm and heavy providing little restbite from the giant’s all encompassing hand.