On Roaring and Retribution.

After the ice came the snow. After the snow came the rain and the rapid thaw. That was when the Shire took on its new guise as Waterworld. A few days of calm and clement weather followed, and today the rain came back – not very much of it, but enough to have us confused as to whether the water courses have earth beneath them or roads. The Shire is a hilly place, you see, and the wet autumn has left the land saturated to busting point.

Tonight we have another change. A storm system is crossing the Shire and the wind is roaring like a beast from hell bent upon finding something to destroy just because it can. Do I exaggerate? No; that really is what it sounds like.

I went out and moved Beddy the Garden Bear into the little porch by the front door earlier. He usually sits next to one of the wheelie bins (dumpsters) at the side of the house watching the birdies, but the wind was offering a clear and present threat of danger. A few minutes later I heard one of the bins go over, so it seems my instinct was right for once. This is Beddy taking the sun in warmer, calmer times. Such a cheerful little chap. You wouldn't him to get hurt, would you?

 

 

Soon be time for evening coffee and a further excursion into the troubled world of Helen Graham, eponymous tenant of Wildfell Hall. Two thirds of the book gone and we’re still in flashback reading the contents of her diary. At the moment she’s agonising over how she’s going to cope with a cold future living with a man she hates in a marriage bereft of pleasure, purpose, or any semblance of affection. But of course, it won’t end there; we know that from the beginning of the story. I imagine he will probably die, removed from Helen’s life by a God bent on consigning him to the rack of retribution. And then Helen’s faith will be vindicated.

But I’m only guessing. Time will tell.