Janey...
The power unleashed on our coastlines makes mockery of our fragile attempts to tame our world
Helen...
Daylight barely comes before it slips away again. Black branches sway and drip.
Kit...
Sheep humped in sodden fields, soggy fleeces needing wrung out and hung out to dry
Beverley...
There’s a fury rushing through the dark, a revenge of witches, unleashed in racing currents of rain, coursing the fields, throwing itself over hills, against rooves and windows, aggravating the naked trees; resistance is in vain.
Jane...
The hillside puts on its blanket of dankest brown, blackest purple, deepest bronze. Western sun sets all alight and then is gone.
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