We’ve been experiencing some very blustery weather over the last few days here in the north west of England. On Monday night, as I drove into town to pick Fliss up from the station it was almost scary, the way the trees were bowing and the leaves rushed around in the night air, spiraling frantically with each strong gust.
As I got closer to the city center the leaves were joined by numerous plastic bags, soaring and swooping in the earie glow of the street lights like polythene spectre’s.
Once inside the shelter of the station, all was calm, as if the storm had suddenly died without trace. I began thinking that maybe the swirling leaves and litter had made the conditions seem much worse than they actually were. However, the howling wind on the return journey and occasional thunk! as a conker bounced off of the car betrayed just how forceful the wind could be out in the open.
You know that e-mail questionnaire you get every so often? The one that begs you to fill in the answers to semi-intimate questions and then forward it on to friends? There’s a question in that along the lines of; “Storms – cool or scarey?”
I always answer “both.”
