Between Gales (January 2015)


You wake to deep grey darkness.
No spark to lighten
your tentative walk to the kitchen
trying to avoid the curled up dog.

Communication utilities are dead.
But then the comfort of candles,
of a roaring fire,
a coffee with almond milk
and a silent ‘thank you’ to the previous dweller
who installed the gas cooker in this house.

Outside the bins are still
where you positioned them yesterday
and not down at the shore
found by a neighbour a few times
before you learned the hebridean ways.

The shed has not moved
and apart from the doormat which has flown away,
some garden mesh hanging helpless in the fence,
cat and dog refusing to move outdoors
and windows covered in salty mist and grass blades
it seems that you can relax now
before the next storm wave
will hit tomorrow.


About lorianapauli

Born in Italian speaking Ticino/Switzerland. Lived all my life in different parts of that very country till I found my way "home", where I truly belong > the 'Long Island'.
This entry was posted in Berneray people, gales, Islands, Outer Hebrides, Poetry, seasons and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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