Tree by river

Tree or trees? One limb broken. The grey path reflects the grey sky. Water rushes down the river, brown and muddy. In speight, almost overcoming the banks. The rain is trapped on the pathways, the grass sodden and squelchy. I walked along there this afternoon as part of a long walk. I can feel the wet mud between my toes overtopping my shoes, pulling at their soles. Water is like glue. Stronger than gravity. My feet lift out of the shoes as they lift from the ground. My feet still feel cold and are aching hours afterwards. Perhaps I need a bowl of hot water to soak them in. I wish I’d got some bathsalts! Time to rest.

Friday 13th

Someone asked me whether I was superstitious of the day. I’m not really but I thought I would write a response :

I’m staying indoors in case a black cat crosses my path, climbs up a ladder, meets a magpie, has a fight, knocks over the ladder, which lands on a crack in the pavement, breaking the wing mirror on my car. The ladder also breaks my window and snaps the stop cock on the way down……

Now where did put my rain coat incase we have a flood….?

Rushing tide

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Up the channel between the islands, rushed the tide, waves pushed along the coast, great groynes had been built to stop the long shore drift washing sand along it. Seagulls swooped overhead, floating on the updrafts, silently drifting over the heads of people walking up the salty sands, scoping out victims who had ice creams or bags of chips.

The storm came out of the West, flying clouds darkening, scudding across the sky. The wind rose and fell, rose again, howling. Churning up the sea into foam, like whipped cream, the tops of the waves  were being torn off by the winds, waves curled up and over, crashing onto the beach.

A memory of Mount Fuji, the picture of it with crashing waves. That was what it was like. The lighthouse along the coast was flashing, two short flashes, then a gap as the light rotated. Seaweed was torn from its beds, wood and ripped nets were cast up on the shore. The tide rose and swamped the town. Streets were flooded. Life takes note of the raging waves.

This is all in the future. Now there is rushing water, soon there will be storm force winds.

Rising tide…

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The sea is rising

The rain comes in mountains now.

Falling so fast its like a bomb.

Wet feet

Now wet knees,

Up to my thighs…

We walked once from Robin Hoods Bay

To Boggle Hole.

On the North East Coast

Of Yorkshire.

The sea came in

Along the rocks.

It was faster than us.

He was up to his chest,

I was up to my neck

When we waded out

Of the North Sea.

That was twenty years ago.

Now you only have to look at a cloud

And you are covered, soaked, flooded.

Where will it end?

Up a creek without a paddle?

Out of the rain.

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The storm blew in from the North like a runaway train. The wind threw water against the houses. Cars were lifted up by the flood and were caught on the top of the neat hedges that lined the sides of the street. Out of the maelstrom came a figure of a small man dressed in a black raincoat. Water streamed from him, it flowed out of his sleeves and trouser legs. Tears streamed in rivers from his eyes, nose, mouth and even from his ears.

He was called Beck and he was from the North. He was a water god and he had decided to show mankind his might because of the way the World was being treated. He was angry and the storm was growing into a tornado. He had seen the way forests were being cut back, cars clogging roads, ships travelling half way across the world to deliver the cheapest sweatshop goods.

Beck lifted his arms, words bubbled up from his mouth.

Learn or die! He screamed in a high voice. Learn, or, die !