It’s colder inside than out. This doesn’t bode well for the winter to come. The perfect storm rolled across the horizon and crashed ashore caging the house with fork lightening and cutting the power. Liam screamed like a girl. Brimming flat roofs discharged the deluge like mini Niagaras and the virtually vertical access road became a white water ride swollen by instant tributaries from across Mount Tepe. We feared a landslide. The storm abated as quickly as it had risen. Power restored, Liam returned to making his spicy sharon fruit chutney.
Our glorious Indian summer has been violently deposed by an unannounced contest for meteorological supremacy between apocalyptic tempests and dazzling sunshine, a battle which sired a family of stunning, perfectly cut rainbows (which my picture cannot do justice to). The electric rage lashed the house with horizontal rain and peppered the walls with hailstones. I feared the End of Days. I now better appreciate how people in less scientific times attributed this natural replay to the eternal struggle between good and evil with humanity caught in between. The electricity company wisely cut the power during the heavenly discord. We shrugged our shoulders, lit some candles and chucked another log on the fire.