SAFETY IN THE STORM

Somewhere between 2 and 3 I woke up to see the sky flickering through the curtains. It was lightning.

I really like a night-time storm. It's no respecter of sleepers; it simply roars in across the silent world and cracks open the sky until it pours with rain.

I threw back the curtains, cranked open the window and watched, perched on the windowsill. The air was full of that fresh, damp, earthy smell and the trees were rustling against a brooding sky. Their silhouettes stood bold against the deep grey bank of clouds that rolled above.

It seemed significant somehow, on the eve of the country making a big decision about our future. Thunderstorms bring change, and after months of an ill-tempered campaign, it was finally time for the atmosphere to shift. Whichever way this referendum goes, we all know that change is inevitable.

Change in my own life too. I feel it on the breeze, though I can't describe it very well. Much is required of me and yet I can't carry it; or at least I don't think I can, which is a different matter. I have to sort it out. Certainly, the old is gone and the world we're living in is very new.

The world lit up in a double flash of white light. For a brief moment, the garden, my next door neighbour's shed, the park, the trees, the grass, were silently illuminated into sharp shadows before falling back into the darkness.

Moments later, the thunder whip-cracked through the night and rumbled angrily around the valley.

There I was, squashed up on the windowsill, my knees drawn up to my chin, leaning against the open window, feeling the breeze. In the midst of great change, I thought, it's good to be safe.