By IainatCreel

Shelter from the Storm

The trees were heaving.  The earth was moving.  The rain was raining; and wet.  Very.  We are melting into the sky and drifting into the sea.  I so want my sky to the colour of an omphalodes and shaded with clouds too light to tether.

I retreated to HQ for an outdoors day indoors, my pakamac in shreds.  It was no day for a Mimi Moke.  I even resorted to listening to choice cuts from Trout Mask Replica.  Which I’ve rarely done since seeing it performed on stage.  It’s difficult to ‘curate’.

Rejoice - Mrs. McLeod and the Minister are back on speaking terms.

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