Icy floating star – cirrus screaming across the silent stratosphere.

Leaves whirled fast, scraping in receding currents, to gather by the oak. ~ The world was such a wonder. I doubt I thought how small I was, nor of my life beyond the fence. ~ Puddles freeze. Clear ice is cracked, chipped, then pressed opaque by new probing toes.

Silent word painting, a few colourful brushstrokes, then minds touch and smile.

I shall rise, and leave before the sun, returning once its light is done. ~ Many years have passed me by since last I ventured out this way to feel each moment of a day. ~ When evening comes, I shall rest, stars twinkling bright, as the owl leaves its nest.

Please, please, let there be a storm, let the fierce winds shake the trees and scream across the rocky heights, the mounting violence shape the seas with sloping greys and foaming whites, howling round the rooftops, flicking rain, spattering against the window pane. ~ And may the storm not peter in the night but rage…