bimble

By monkus

stormfronts

At last the rain, the air cooled as sheets plummet from the brightened sky, 101 and its companions lost in the storm, wavering into pale grey fingers reaching upwards, the colour draining from graveyard hill. 

No thoughts of a walk today, another coffee, see what's been happening and finding myself, despite my better judgement, flicking through some news, curious to see what developments there have been overnight. But there's only confusion and contradiction on the airwaves, a simple message which even its apologists can't seem to agree on - guidelines which have been in force here for months suddenly applied or, maybe, advised, no one seems to be sure about those details, if there are any details or if the possible detail is to be spelled out in a 50 or, maybe, 60 page document to flesh out the soundbite. A hypocritical push from an absent leader for the lower paid to be sent forth as expendables, an offering to the gods of the market and the lunatic fringe....

But luckily there's a sudden calm in the weather, curtains of rain thinning down into discernible droplets, a waft of temperate air offering the possibility of a walk, a chance to stretch the legs clear my head, getting out of the news cycle while the wind whispers the promise of more rain to come.

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