southerly buster

I don’t see you for months. You just go away and leave me unable to sleep at night for missing you, needing you more and more as the Summer wears on.

You’re away so long I’ve forgotten what you feel like.

And then you just blow right in, no announcement, no warning, and turn my home upside down.

My rugs flung across the room and tangled up in lumps by the skirting. Things tossed off tables, important paperwork sent to the floor, out the window. You smash my favourite glass.

And I welcome you in with relief. As you brush my skin, I lean into the delicious sensation and relax. I sigh. I can breathe again.

Hello, old friend, I say, you were deeply missed.

But then I can’t concentrate for all the noise, the bluster, the constant moaning howls from my windows as if the house is haunted. The curtains flying in my face. My hair tangled, in my eyes, I pull strands out from between my teeth. You are relentless, all chaos and noise.

And I am overwhelmed and can’t take it anymore. Stop Shouting! Be still, I say. Can’t you just be here quietly, a gentle, soothing presence? Does it really have to be all or nothing? I love you, I need you and you’re driving me crazy.