Other

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Deep, grey stormclouds gather like a coven of witches, with their long, grey linen skirts, shrouding the sun.
Lightning dances across the sky. Golden forks of energy, intensifying, diminishing, intensifying, throbbing, pulsing.
Water lashes the glass panes,like an out of control hosepipe in full swing.
Wind howls like the elusive banshee, it's cry travelling for miles.
Birds take to the trees, dogs cower, cats disappear.
Thunder roars like an angry lion, threatening it's prey.
Drip, slop, drip, slop, wet gutters heaving their excess onto the stone floor of the patio,creating pools of water.
Everywhere.
Trees, grass, flowers and shrubs raise their foliage as the rain massages their thirsty veins.
Like the second coming, a boost of vitamins to a malnourished body.

Indoors, wet, steaming items of clothing hang from a clothes horse beside a glowing fire.
Crackling, spitting wood, which eventually ends up scorching the hearth.
Smoke billows up the welcoming chimney.
Outside, it is dark, wet, cold, unfriendly.

A hot stew brimming on the stove, sends out the aroma of fresh herbs, vegetables, meat and gravy.
Fresh bread is baking in the oven.

A blush forms on her cheeks as she sets the table for dinner.

In the meantime, she curls up on the sofa with a book by her favourite author, Maeve Binchy, who allows her into the author's world of imagination.
She is now in another place,
warm,
quiet,
contented.

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