Storm

 Roger woke me up around 4.30pm, he pawed at the duvet. The skies were black and the mood of the weather had suddenly changed. We went downstairs and I cooked a jacket potato with beans and we sat in the kitchen , ( me in my underpants) as the storm rolled in from the South.

It was, what I describe, as one of those Hollywood storms , full of constant rolls of thunder and occasional lightening. Roger sat behind the kitchen door, with his head peeping around the opening, and allowed himself a tiny bark at each clash of thunder. 

The storm was a good one with the thunder rolling against the basin of hills that surround Trelawnyd.

It was loud and dramatic, as storms should be , and I moved my chair into the doorway to watch.

The electricity went off, then flickered back on, then off again.

Mary quietly walked up and sat on my knee, and I remembered a recent meeting with the grieving son of a patient who just needed some physical contact in his pain. 

He allowed himself a handshake which I prolonged a couple of seconds longer than normal

The storm was over by five fifteen with Roger bravely walking the flooded patio on tip toe afterwards.

Mary remained knee sitting as after a break, the rain started to fall again.