Inland Sea

It rained here yesterday - that is something of an understatement, and monsoon is a term far more appropriate for a day in which the wind howled in the eaves and tried to make off with the roof shingles, roared through the garden, thrashed about among the trees and took such insolent liberties with the torrential rainfall that it (the rain) seemed to be falling sideways. There were hours at a time when the thunder and lightning were almost deafening and one could not see beyond the windows. Cassie was terrified, and I spent much of my day (and evening) holding her.

When I went outside during a few quiet moments around twilight, my garden was a churning inland sea, complete with forlorn foliage, soggy flowers and its own muddy billows and waves - a gritty brown tide flowing around the little blue house in the village. The whole street seemed to be in motion with torrents in every gutter carrying off leaves, petals, sticks, scraps of newsprint, paper coffee cups, plastic burger boxes and almost every sort of portable detritus one can think up (some of it best left unmentioned here).

At such times, I worry about the roof and garden, but I also marvel at the exuberance and ferocity of the Old Wild Mother when she chooses to make her presence felt. Yesterday, she was in touch with her feelings and she was expressing them in no uncertain terms. This morning, my little world is very green indeed, but the skies are grey, and it seems that the remainder of the week is to be tempest tossed and watery.