STORM PARTY
Oh! Walking hand in glove, with the cold, cold wind and the lights across the Clyde making the night full of bright jewellery, the pale wash of our torches highlighting the puddles and the lattice of the trees. Stars in between the clouds and a burst of excitement at our wander along the dark path.
Passing a house in the dark, seeing a telly through the windows. By the side of us the dark trickle of a burn, above us the trees with the roar of the ocean in them. Giggling at my preparedness with the spare torch batteries, the early departure and the two bottles of wine in the pack on my back. The towers of the mini castle loom against the sky. Lights light up the drive. The bushes whip back and forth in the gale. We arrive at the door with the notice saying ‘Come in, don’t ring the door bell.’ And enter, to be greeted by whispering voices, smiles, candles, mounds of olives, smiles.
I turn and smile at you too because we are indeed smiling and I am being very brave, for me, indeed.
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