Prelude to a Storm

How ironic – the storm starts just after 

you leave hospital, going back to attending

to the petals in your small garden, and your

tiny Yorkshire Terrier, named Bramble.

Now a juicy storm slips over the radar,

exciting the newspapers, broadcasters

with eyes protruding from sockets,

as Philip Schofield comes out on air.

And you watch from the couch, life 

every bit as dramatic as the recent past, 

roofs swept from buildings; people killed

under rubble, threat of a new pandemic.

I struggle up the freezing street, blizzard

bringing me down, chased by well-aimed 

raindrops, and remember the old adage

that everything could be so much worse.