Shelter

The worst of the storm rattled past last night, huffing and puffing, putting its shoulder to the windows and slates, our old house creaking & shuddering, being flexed and released, encased in a brand-new, breathy scaffolding.

There was hardly anyone out in the park this afternoon, but there's always someone: a young hardy jogger, a woman pushing a covered buggy, another with her head crammed under a tiny umbrella. Gusts of brightness and hard grey rain. But it was bracing: ah yes, we appear to be alive after all.

I tossed a few balls for the dog, Lola, each throwing up a tiny Catherine wheel of spray as it landed. She ran after them as she always does, though was mightily distracted by the barrage of scents and apt to chase the birds: magpies, crows, a few gulls.

That's her sheltering under the one tree we saw that was properly blown over by the wind's landscape gardening.