Poker Face Sky

No storm today. Rain and a trudge around some local damage.
In the lanes potholes are ground deeper by a swill of loose stone.
The fat trunked ash is conveniently falling twig by twig.
Next door fares a leaky front room and a greenhouse left more frame than glass.
We lean over the fence, observe the wrecked reflective pieces.
Elsewhere; we note; other people are prising trees out of roofs: evacuated: more, much more is forecast: weather talk stumbles out of the anodyne zone into an apocalypse.
The sky lies on the horizon, innocuous grey, keeps us guessing.


  1. As my Portuguese father used to say when storms came, "Batten down the hatches!" We have wisely abstained from sailing for generations, but it still sound like good advice, doesn't it?

  2. Lisa, I was brought to my senses by reading the two kind comments above because really, in reading your writing I was just thinking, "How does she do that?"...
    So yes, stay safe!


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