Will Vigar

A Writer of Sorts

Going Home: Keats – Episode 8

storm-clouds250_250

April 23rd

There was a storm, alright. The cats hid under my bed and yowled all night. The livestock have never made such noise before. I wanted to go outside and make sure they were safe, but when I got to the greenhouse, the skies were like nothing I had seen before; huge vortices of purple anger; lightning spiralling throughout. It looked as if the lightning was being sucked in, but that can’t be right.

Hailstones as big as my head threatened to shatter the reinforced glass and the rain didn’t seem so much to fall as replace the air. If I’d gone out there, there would a very real possibility that I would have drowned! Very disturbing. I watched for a while, but decided the animals would have to take their chances. There was no way I was going out in that!

I wish I’d started the cellar project earlier. I got the creeping horrors and thought that if this was it, if that storm was to be the end of things, I’d rather die in comfort, in bed, with a cup of cocoa, a good book and surrounded by cats. I am the Crazy Cat Lady. This is not how I saw my life going, but hey.

After about four hours of unnerving and frankly frightening weather, the cats started to relax and poke their heads from under the bed; those that hadn’t slipped under the covers, anyway. I figured the worst had passed.

I didn’t feel much like surveying the damage. In fact I tried to ignore it. I played the piano, fed the cats, read a while and by 11 am felt guilty about leaving the animals to whatever had happened to them. Turns out, other than one of the goats huts coming down, they seemed to be okay. Skittish and nervous, but no damage and no dead. A minor miracle. There was a weird tang of ozone in the air and I remembered, long ago, a different world, going to a funfair with Graham and me being sick on the Waltzers. “Sweet Talkin’ Woman” by the Electric Light Orchestra was playing. Every time I heard it after that I was sick.

I jumped in the van, went back to the farm I found yesterday and did two hay runs. After the second run, it was beginning to get dark, so didn’t have time to unload, just to get the animals in and get inside. After last night . . . I’m rattled. I don’t know what that storm was but it didn’t feel right.

I went understage after eating and started planning out the animal house. Easy enough. There are enough uprights/pit props to use as stable dividers and plenty of space for coops and roosting space. To be honest, I think it’s only going take nailing some flat boards or planks to the props. It might even strengthen the support the props give, if I’m lucky.

I need to find a DIY store. Some thick mdf might do the job. I may be able to find some doweling for the roosts, too.

It’s been a long day with an air of panic. I’m not sure I like it. It’s been pretty tranquil for the last few years. This is a disturbing development. I needed to calm down a bit. I played some Erik Satie from the sheet music I found the other day. I knew this music, although I didn’t know it’s name – Gnossiennes – and the cats appreciated the calm. The playing came to a discordant end as Jeff the ginger jumped on the keyboard, purring. I think that was the first time I’d smiled in weeks.

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