Gally, love your gracious nod to Neptune!
The wind's still howling here and the rain pounding, and here's our experience:
Last night the loch was black
With long orange streaks —
Reflections of road lights along the shore —
Across the still water.
Today, on occasions, the loch was white
With spray metres high
Whipped off the surface
And carried in the wind.
The hill behind us, with its Old English (German) name
In a place of Brythonic history
(don't you just love the complexity of Britain?),
Gives us shelter of sorts from the prevailing winds
Howling over Atlantic,
So we only lost to the gale
Half a plum tree and half a rowan tree,
An anti-down-draught chimney cowl,
A length of guttering,
And, for a few hours,
Our electricity supply.
So glad we have a solid fuel stove!
We also dug a drain today
To carry excess water round the house
And down the hill
To that blown, white-streaked, sea.