The Storm and the Sea

She sits at a window, that faces the park the daylight is fading, to almost dark. It’s almost deserted as people return to their flats and houses to find the warm. She glimpses through raindrops on the window pane, hearing the rush of a long-distance train, and onto the skylights the rainwater beats as she gazes below at the shiny wet streets. The rainwater gurgles down all the gulleys, the rush-hour commuters are all in a hurry. The traffic lights blink and cars surge straight ahead as flashes of lightning crash overhead. She stands at the window, looks up at the sky, and hears rolls of thunder, cleaving the sky. The wind through the park it gathers up speed, and the lounge carpet’s lifting under her feet. Silent and still she watches the scene like a black and white movie on the silver screen as a trio of students flag down a car to take them to lodgings, not very far. She paces the room as the thunderclouds roar, louder, more angry than they were before. She rolls down the blind with a fair hand that shakes, arranges her hair, lights her cigarette. Then, the doorbell, rings, and she’s there, at the step, as a caller - her lover, comes in from the wet. I sit at the window, opposite the park, watch comings and goings until it is dark. The kettle is on and I have company; my cat and computer, the storm and the sea. Suzy Davies, Copyright 2020. All Rights Reserved