Wardrop's Close Revisited

Wind, shearing horizontal under a leaden sky.
Stinging the face with barbs of icy rain.
Eyes watering and sightless
seek comfort from passers by
who with hoods up and eyes down
see only the ground in front.

The wind howls through the trees
bending the branches in submission.
While empty cans hurtle past in a frenetic jig,
and plastic bags cling fast to railings,
buckets spill their contents
to be blown in sodden heaps
and caught in sheltered corners.

A sudden gust of fierce intensity
Stops me in my tracks.
I lurch and stand solid.
I can't compete
Nature has proved her strength.

She lessens her grip and I move.
Turning a corner, the wind has lost me.
I reach a café haven
and can watch through glass
The world blown in nature's rythmn.

On this third day of Christmas, the French Hens wouldn't stand a chance!