August

[Sweder]

I took the old track
the hollow shoulder, across the waters
On the tall cliffs
they were getting older, sons and daughters
The jaded underworld was riding high
Waves of steel hurled metal at the sky
and as the nail sunk in the cloud, the rain
was warm and soaked the crowd.

[SIZE="1"]Peter Gabriel – Lord, Here Comes The Flood[/SIZE]

I took the old track this evening, the one that leads from the house up onto the downland edge, on the cusp of nightfall.
The hounds were excited, edgy, as if beasties lurked in every shadow. Despite a weird and unearthly calm the hills resonated with hidden force, energy coursing beneath the turf in an underground torrent. A bolt of light from the south west snapped my head up; there! Another, huge, back-lighting great stacks of dark cloud piled above the cowering gloomscape. And another, up to the north, sheet lightning bouncing back and forth across legions of fields barely tucked in for the night. Hidden forces signalled fierce intent across the plains. The air around us remained deathly still, almost hushed; the calm before the storm.

I looked out to where the city of Brighton nestled between mighty shoulders of chalk and grass. The city glow reflected on the sky's swollen underbelly, the twisting body of vapour darkening into a disapproving furrowed brow as I dared to watch. Something wicked this way comes. Indeed; another awesome flash triggered God’s paparazzi, a cavalcade of monstrous flashbulbs flooding the heavens. The first rumbles of thunder changed the scene, reworking the imagery; this is war, a gathering of hostile forces sweeping in from the west. More blasts of light followed now by a distant growl, big guns advancing, malevolent, intent on savage harm. The pink-orange tint wasn’t refracted light but the death-glow of a ravaged city, fallen to the crushing blows of unstoppable energy and power. I called the hounds to heel and struck for home as the temperature dropped several degrees. In minutes we’d be mauled by a hellacious deluge; time to take cover.

By the time I’d kicked my boots off and re-hung the leads the first heavy drops were pounding on the windows. Dazzling semaphore danced all around, darkening shadows, hurling houses and trees into sharp relief. Seduced by the angry sirens' song I clasped the wooden door frame and peered into the broiling sky. Black-streaked thunderheads gathered above, furious, eager to punish the foolish and the impudent. The rain speared in, steel rods stinging the ground, driven not by wind but by some mighty hammer wielded by a celestial blacksmith. Wild imagery ran amok; anvils, giant sparks lashing the firmament, a huge, cloud-bearded beast smiting his cruel cudgel on a vast iron block . . .

I love this planet, no more so than on nights like these.
The unfathomable range of nature, the awesome power that moves around us, reminding us that we’re nowhere near as smart or important as we’d like to think.
It’s like a warning; be careful. If you continue to trash me I can pick you up and crush you like a squirming bug.

There's nothing so fearsome as a mother on the warpath.
Now, tidy your room.