It was a blue sky morning and so we went walking, past the studio where She should have been working and through the farmyard which was mud mud mud.
In the green lane that leads to the top of the hill fragile mosaics of broken snail shell still lay on the saturated surface of the path. To one side of the path blue sky, on the other side the sky held a weight of water. Even as we walked the wind began to rise again, but the world was still all sunshine and sharp shadows.
On top of the hill we looked across the landscape. Everywhere bright pools silvered the land. In the sky a darkness was coming, bruising the heavens to inky blue. The air began to thicken with water. We turned for home, and all the way back were on the edge, the very edge, of the storm.
We could hear the rain falling in heavy drops dripping, we could hear the wind beginning to roar, we could hear as it rattled and ran through the black thorn bushes. But we were sheltered in the green lane and though the storm chased us through the farmyard mud we made it home to the cosy house, safe and dry.