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All those other storms

Small, icy, ball-bearings,

rattle down on the roof

of our ageing blue camper.

Rocked by the wind

it creaks and complains,

while you and I, lie

tucked in our sleeping bags

like two wintering caterpillars.

Even so, we are smug

in our choice of accommodation,

no wind battered tent

on this occasion

we reminisce.

All those other storms,

some, so far past and distant,

they are clouds on a horizon

that preceded

not just our old blue van

but mortgages

and children.

An age when we revelled

in near misses

and white knuckle moments

whilst held to ransom by the weather.

All those other storms -

when we kept each other safe

and had a tale to tell on our return.

Then, as time crept on

small squalls,


and tornadoes

littered our lives

but we rode them out - each one,

fending them off

with waterproofs and umbrellas

to emerge damp and ruffled round the edges

but no less intact.

Us two and

all those other storms,

so inextricably tangled,

we became

one storm,

one story,

one love,

one life

to be remembered

while lying in our feather cocoons

listening to the wild wind.

All those other storms -

and yet,

we still wish

we could emerge once more

when this storm passes

and fly away on butterfly wings,

to live, to fight them all again.

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