Here is a poem about the weather for Dverse poets as I look through my window onto a very London Garden of the past. There is still an old apple tree from when this area was an orchard in the 1920s! How aware are we of how the weather is changing and the causes of this are possibly much more of our own making. When will we wake up to the stronger winds? The British Met Office has decided to name storms. Storm force gales of 80 mph are supposed to be hitting the North of England soon. The weather may be a little quieter in the south,for a while.
In London Town the sun shines bright
After dismal days of rainy grey clouded skies.
Leaves falling with their tints of yellow red,
Tiny blue of tiny tit, pink plumage of wood pigeon
The lilac tones of fuchsia for a dearly loved cat.
A family garden of changing times
In the shade of an ivy clad old apple tree.
The weather is changing, November is now warm,
Am I too changing with the passing seasons.
The sky changes to a stormy grey, the leaves fall fast.
The Met Office wants us to feel storms are friendly too.
By giving names do we accept them more,
The changing times of climate crisis.
Abigail is brewing over the Isle of Skye
Far off in a North West corner of a very British Isle.
Warm and wet is that our future, clustered in a cloud.
Frozen drought and hurricane forces
Are coming further north or further south
The wind is knocking far too gently at our door.