‘Look granny, the stones are black,’ said the little one as we breakfasted after her sleepover in the weekend.

The rain was driving into the balcony, over the planter boxes and into places that are usually quite dry.

 There’s something snug about sitting inside in the warm

 and watching a storm lashing its way across the skies and trees,

 bringing with it great darkness, and then a certain lurid light

 that does its best to break through as the day goes on,

until finally the storm passes. A great sigh has been breathed. The streets are littered with debris but the air is clear.
Sometimes storms pass on the outside, and sometimes on the inside. Whichever way it is, there’s often a sense of peace afterwards: the calm after the storm. Often there’s some mopping up to do, but then I become aware of greater clarity, and gratitude. Storms are nature’s way of clearing. Another is lashing the country right now.