Death From Above

To the woods today, emblazoned in damp and amber. Searching a stash of magical balm. To soothe my heart and quell my woes.

Soul so leaden, lonely, atomised. Scruffy ducks and pied crows. Wattle and daub. Splish splosh. Dogshit and storm clouds augur grimly.

That escalated quickly !

Low to the ground curled up in a ball saying I don’t want to die now as lightning streaked around me.

Beneath a tree is the worst place. And the only place to hide. Seared branches. No Mississippis. Armouries of hail.

Glad to be alive.