A Floody Day


Oh my it’s grim outside. At seven am the sun was out and it looked like a promising pruning day. But then everything changed. Sitting in a dark cool corner of the dining room, the outside world looks prehistoric – foreboding, and today it would be easy to believe in a monster of the loch.

There was no time to count between the lightening and thunder, so it must have been directly overhead. The last time there was a storm in the glen a Highland cow was struck. It was the only other time in fourteen years that there has been a storm here.

The lady next door hurriedly heaped her small children in to the estate car in the sheet rain, desperate to leave, no longer willing to wait. They were all dressed in bright raincoats and wellies  – in sharp contrast to the dark grey of the sky and green on summer leaves on trees.

It’s a little bit frightening. But Pooh and Piglet were brave so perhaps we can be too. It’s difficult though, after a vivid dream, probably induced by the atmosphere in the sky above.

This was the dream: I felt a weight on the bed, like a body, and a hand reach out – it was my mother’s -she took hold of my hand, and I could feel her soft warm skin. I then left the bedroom – did I for real? I’m not sure. Downstairs were other people from the past, all looking much younger, as my mother did. They were having a meeting, a discussion. I can’t recall what about – the dream is fading away. Strange.

All is calm and still, just the foxglove outside the window is swaying gently in the aftershock of the pounding of the heavy rain. I know how it feels.

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