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 !
We are just back from delivering leaflets house to house in the rain. Storm Freya is due to arrive in the next couple of hours. I was going to deliver them earlier in the week but I’m still not well.
What could be more comforting than fish finger sandwiches with a steaming cup of (decaff) coffee.
We didn’t quite finish the route and came home soaking wet. There is nothing much worse than rain getting through the seams of your coat, cold water trickling down your neck and the rain running off a waterproof coat and down onto your trouser legs. Add wet socks from crossing big puddles, wet hair and raindrops on your glasses and you get a picture of how I felt half an hour ago.
The fish finger sandwiches, with brown bread and butter and mayonnaise were very tasty. If I had taken more time I would have added sliced lemon and a few salad leaves but I just wanted something warm and tasty and quick.
Meanwhile the wind is gusting, the rain is hitting the windows. I can hear the wind blowing through a gap round the window and moaning slightly. It’s two hours before sunset but the world very dark and overcast. I might just have a nap.
Storms and hooks of cloud.
Hurricanes and tornados, monsoon and typhoon?
The weather worsens and land is submerged.
Subsumed under water, pouring over ground.
The heat is rising, bubbling up.
Jet stream and Gulf stream, stream and steam.
Poor polar bear, starving now the sea is no longer ice.
Ship’s can sale through warm waters,
But is this good? No it cannot be,
The ocean and the sea,
Will rise above our heads if we don’t change.
Carbon dioxide expands, exhaled from life and oil.
Let us hope we can ride out the waves,
Let us survive and make amends.
Love the world, the Earth,
Do not love greed and money.
The sky was clear earlier, just a few clouds skudding past as the sun set, the sky deepening in azure blue as the night arrived. But now, less than two hours later, the wind has picked up the leaves that had fallen early because of the drought. The storm is blowing around the house like an old steam engine, puffing and panting, whistling and roaring. I could imagine gouts of flame shooting out its boiler.
One minute all is quiet, then gusts blow down the chimney, the air in the room cools and stirs. The cats have come in to seek shelter, yet they are restless, torn between comfort and agitation. Nose to the glass looking out at the chaotic movement of the air…
The traffic noise is amplified by the wind. Unseen cars blur past in a loud buzz, like bees scattering from a hive seeking food at breakneck speed.
Still no rain in this gale, tiles rattle but not from raindrops, this storm is selfish and does not want to share its water. Jealous of allowing the land to drink. Will it rain? Perhaps, maybe wet the feet of the trees.
I think of the poor and destitute. Wrapped in an old duvet or plastic bag for shelter. How will they cope with no roof to protect them? This storm is the first of the season, big bulky winds rattling plastic sheeting, tearing it from cold bodies. Why are they unhomed, unheeded, unheated, uncared for?
In a land due to celebrate the centenary of the end of the first world war, in a land that was fit for hero’s, we have gone back to the maelstrom of survival of the fittest and devil take the hind most.
My safety from the wild wind is their loss. I grieve for them.