Corrugated.

soft pellets hit the window,

augmented once or twice,

by forgivable stampedes,

of sharp (though angry) hail.

….

Weathered shapes collapse in the distance,

Tiny figures scatter before the floods;

Saying brief prayers, and reminiscing,

Thoughts on sun and earth

And fertile warmth,

Before the torrents hit.

The cleansing blasts of ice and rain,

Engulf in sombre silence,

As living things move once again,

To scavenge life.

….

and here, a box

of trivial and insignificant,

safe and warm and dry

(but achingly flat)

longs to be outside.