The air was heavy and low rumbling could be heard like an ominous warning, somewhere off to the west. In the distance a veil began to be drawn over the horizon, and once crystal-clear lines as sharp as a pocket knife became blurred as if smudged by a giant hand.
Then the storm broke and the road became a river and day became night and Summer became Autumn as the rain bounced off the hard tarmac, before settling down again to look for the lowest point as people frantically looked for shelter.
The air is still heavy, and a low rumbling can still be heard among the people, like a low ominous warning. A veil is drawn across their hopes and once clear lines of help and support are now smudged or erased. Will another storm break? Will we all be looking for shelter? Peter Sagar