The storm has arrived and the elements are fierce. It's bucketing, as we would say in Northern Ireland. The roads have turned into rivers, and the sky into one massive cloud. There are puddles in my shoes, and my trousers and wet and heavy. My umbrella almost took me for a ride in the sky. I've just made it to my room, drenched though I may be. You know you're soaking when you actually have to ring out your trousers. The heat is on and my shoes are drying. The blinds are up and I have a panoramic view of a very wet world. Waves of rain batters against my window, each drop like a tiny pellet. I'm enjoying its random rhythm. The wind is mighty, so that the trees are swaying violently; each tree branch is threatened with each gust.
Ah, I love a good storm.
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