The rain came round last night,
not gentle and seeping slowly from the clouds
but loud and pounding,
driving hard against the panes,
pummeling the walls and windows,
carried by the wind,
sending sheaves of water
in the midst of the wind’s relentless harvest.
In the aftermath
of mud and muck
the horses paced the fence,
eager for morning’s feeding.
As I dropped leaves of hay
into the bay of the feeder,
each strand that dropped loose from my hands
was jerked away by the wind,
whipping and whirling across the pen.
It is chill this morning
and not pleasant for work
but I think
that when we have survived the storm
we ought to be cautious
in noting our inconveniences.