Storm (59)

It rages. I walked in it anyway. I needed to. I needed to make it less frightening. For it does frighten me. That wind, that howling. I feel vulnerable, at the mercy of elements that could destroy me. It isn’t personal the wind is just doing what it does. The rain lashed, whipping across my face, and still I walked. It rages still, what three hours later. I think of those without shelter, how must that be to be out in this wind storm. Is that man still sleeping in the Prom shelter and the other one, is he still sleeping in the doorway of Coffee#?

I do my stuff, all that domestic stuff that is required to keep things in place, to instill a semblance of order but the bleakness of this dark, this winter, this outer raging still lingers.

Some days it is just about keeping going. One more washing load to finish and hang out and then? A pot of tea. And sewing. Not a day to ask much of myself. Just the breathing, the in and the out and being kind. Yes.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.