Lonesome For A Storm

Sometimes I get lonesome for a storm. A full-blown storm where everything changes. The sky goes through four days in an hour, the trees wail, little animals skitter in the mud and everything gets dark and goes completely wild. But it's really God - playing music in his favourite cathedral in heaven - shattering stained glass - playing a gigantic organ - thundering on the keys - perfect harmony - perfect joy.

 - Joan Baez. 

There's a sudden change that has come with this cheeky, elongated summer. We're in March and the weather has been slicing through into the thirties whilst the shops reflect an intention to cling to Autumn. Today is cool - the wind blows through the house knocking clothes off the washing line along the balcony. A stray container on the kitchen counter bounces along the floor, echoing and carrying on before it hits a wall and submits to its defeat.

The travellers are home - my housemates. And though we have stories to tell, our mouths are quiet and the house is silent except for inanimate objects falling and doors opening and closing from the breeze that carries through upstairs. We work silently and humbly alongside each other, we settle into a new routine that encapsulates all of us after 6 weeks apart. And the weather - it compliments this all too well. The sun rests behind rain clouds, exhausted from its theatric performance the last few months. And so we follow suit. And it's all very nice.