I was awoken one night by a loud rapid banging and crashing. Initially I tried to ignore it, rolled over and tucked the blankets over my head. After a few more minutes I realised I couldn’t really leave it and curiosity got the better of me and I wearily got up groping for the light. As I descended the stairs the noise seemed to get louder and it felt like I was at sea. Each time there was a crash I felt a great draft of wind as if the front door was open?
When I got down I saw what the noise was: it was the cat flap furiously rising and falling and each time it opened a blast of cold air blew in and a pile of autumn leaves were strewn along the hallway. I gingerly opened the front door and wished I hadn’t.
The scene, while hideously dark, was a wild animated hurricane of movement. The trees were at crazy angles bending almost to the ground and there was a strange groaning noise as if they were in torment. What light there was flickered and splintered between the heaving branches.
I forced the front door shut again and managed to wedge the cat flap shut and went to make a cup of tea as I was wide awake now. I don’t know how, but Michael seemed to be totally oblivious to the cacophony of noise and continued to sleep through it all!
For the first time since I moved in I felt quite scared and concerned about the proximity of the trees to the house. Each wave of the hurricane seemed to get more furious and I felt like a small rodent paralysed by fear and expecting any minute for the crash of and splinter of trees crashing down on our little house.
Having had tea and noticing the cats were nowhere to be seen. I plodded back up the stairs trying to not think too much about the situation. I lay down on the bed listening to the wild tossing and imagined this was like a tropical storm with the wind hitting the window and the whole shaking of the house. Maybe it would be lifted up and carried away like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz Would I ever see the sunrise?
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