Fireworks and storms

Last night I had just got in from dropping Skater at the station. I had heard the voices and laughter in the darkness and wondered what was afoot. I was in our kitchen at the back of the house when it began. We have been hearing bangs and whooshes on and off for the last week or so. It is the same every year. Fireworks night seems to go on for about 2 or 3 weeks.

But this was different. At first I thought it was from one of the back gardens a few doors away, soon I realised this was at the front of the house coming from the green across the road. This was no 5 minute wonder. I made my way up to the spare room that I have claimed as my office/laundry room. Opening the vertical blinds and kneeling on the bed I began to watch this amazing display of colour and sound. I could make out a group of shadowy figures moving around with lights I can only assume strapped their heads. This was a well organised display, the people lighting the fireworks obviously knew what they were doing. There was barely a break between each firework. This display continued seamlessly for more than half an hour. It wasn’t until I joined Owl watching from his office window that I saw the group of spectators standing a safe distance from the display.

I don’t know who these people were and as it was only a small gathering on public land I can only assume it was a group of friends/family who had got together. They must have spent a small fortune to put this together. Whoever they are I applaud them.

This morning sitting in bed with my cup of tea, kindly brought to me by my husband I was reading my short story magazine that I have started buying for inspiration purposes. I read a story about a storm which reminded me of a short story I wrote 5 or 6 years ago.

I have decided to post it here as a small treat for you.


Waking he finds the empty space beside him where she had lain as she fell asleep wrapped in his arms. He knows she has not long left his side; there is still the residue of her warmth emanating from the sheet that still carries the scent of her. Turning his face into her pillow he breathes in the faint reminder that she was here recently. Silently he arises from the pale blue king sized bed, padding across the deep cream pile he moves through the door. It is not long before his eyes rest on her silhouette. He stands for a moment or two as he watches her. He knows why she is there, he knows what she is looking at, he has heard it too.

Another crash and the room around him becomes illuminated for a split second. He watches her as she stands there all alone watching the storm as it makes its wild and beautiful way across the bay towards them. This is another thing they share this love of the wild weather. They are so lucky to be so close to the beach, the storms that race across the ocean towards the land like this are always the best. From where he stands he can hear the waves crashing on the shingle so close yet still a safe distance away. He marvels at her serenity as she stands there with the wind and rain whipping at her.

He knows that taste of salt as the rain runs in tiny rivulets down her face and the tails of her hair as the water drips from the end of her soft brown curls. He can imagine the tiny beads of moisture resting on her eye lashes as she stands oblivious in her fascination. Slowly he moves forward until he reaches out his hand to her naked shoulder. Gripping her softly but firmly, she turns her head to look at him as he slides his free arm around her cold waist drawing her back into the warmth of his body, sheltering her from the chill that will soon have her shivering. He places her black silk wrap, which he had carried with him, upon her shoulders.

He kisses her neck and shoulder before he moves to stand slightly behind and to the side of her with his arm still around her.

‘I knew you would come.’ She whispers,

‘ how could I miss such a beautiful sight’ his soft heartfelt reply.

He means this beautiful creature he thinks of as his soul mate as much as the storm. The combination of both delight and arouse him so that he swiftly lifts her in his strong arms carrying her to the fur rug beside the gas fire, they can still see the storm through the Picture window that he now closes. The room suddenly silent, now that the weather has been shut out once again. Mutely he collects a fluffy cream towel from the Airing cupboard. Testing the warmth against his face he returns to his sweetheart. Removing the slip of black silk from her skin he gently dries her as she gazes into his eyes. Her attention now fully on him, she watches as he pours two chilled glasses of champagne from the now empty bottle from last night.

A toast ‘to a beautiful woman on a wild stormy night’

‘to my handsome, sexy hero who knows me so well’



Talking of storms we seemed to have survived Monday’s St Jude storm relatively unscathed. I have seen some damaged trees but otherwise nothing much.  How did you fare (if you are in Southern UK)

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