The day after the storm

A storm swept over southern Sweden last Sunday in October. The hem of her skirt touched my town. She cured me from my sleeping problems the latest nights. I slept well all night lulled by the noise from her wild flapping flurries outside my bedroom window. Next day the storm had already left for Finland. It was a bright and breezy Monday morning showing a bare landscape. The storm had blown the last leaves from the canopy and free from all fancy disguises they stretched up to heaven’s cool caresses. I opened my balcony door to let the fresh autumn air into my rooms and I lingered in the doorway looking at the new landscape. Pale smiling it looked back at me and said “My dear, being in misery is not the hardest, it’s to face the new day after a storm.” Yes, well… It became a bit chilly to stand there so I went back in to make my morning coffee.


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