A River runs through it


Adilakshmi, the handmaiden to Mother Meera, the Indian holywoman living near Frankfurt, once told me that she believed the weather in the region reflected Mother Meera's moods and health. When the divine mother ailed, clouds brooded and wept.

If the weather's to reflect one's own moods and health it's probably best to stay away from Northern Europe ... and mountains. A rainstorm has blown across this village for a couple of days. Waking this morning and looking out from our kitchen window as dawn set in, I discovered the river had swollen to three times its normal size overnight.

A good day's writing of my novel saw me through a a few stormy scenes ... and my lead character emerged from a traumatic period in what, to all effects, was an asylum.

The rain stopped, clouds dispersed, sun shone through, the landscape looked radiant in all its many shades of green. I jumped into a neighbouring patch of wild garden and ripped out a few years of dead vines and undergrowth, flinging it over a wall and into the torrent below.

It's fun the way the weather reflects the passages of my writing ;0)

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