The rain thrashed the window of my room. The wind buffeted the curtain and raced around the house and roof. I listened, tucked firmly in bed. The energy and power of the gale like a persistent knock at the door. Imploring me to open the way, angry at being obstructed. I love wind and rain that rocks the parked cars and strips the dignity from Autumn’s modesty, leaving trees naked and stark.
In the morning the sun was shining. A few scattered leaves played chase outside on the drive as the breeze gently chided them for their laziness. There’s no reminder of the furious angry tirade of the night. Forgiven, forgotten, last nights temper. The world resumes it’s composure
The peace and calm is broken by news of a boat lost at sea. The storm’s anger bending and breaking steel. Six are missing, the boat sunk. Two were found in a life raft and rescued. The tempest satisfied, even embarrassed by the show, now no more.
My excitement and thrill at last nights storm now a guilty memory; that I enjoyed the sounds of fury whilst in the Irish Sea 8 men of the ship Swanland were fighting to stay alive.
The Swanland now sunk in last nights storm
2 comments:
You have a beautiful way of expressing yourself, Julius. I really enjoyed your account of last night's storm. (Sorry about the ship and loss of life though.)
You really must start writing your autobiography!
Sala Kahle xxx
Reading the previous comment I thought that I felt exactly the same! I enjoyed the poetry of your writing Julius. Would love to read more ... a book ?
warm regards
Frédérique
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