Another mighty storm today - rocking and rolling round the end of the Long Mountain, flashing and crashing, shaking windows and doors. Man and beast dive for cover. The sheep, I notice, are in the lee of the hedge, a line of hunched silhouettes against a slatey sky. The air is warm but the rain sharp and cold as nails.
The storm passes, leaving only a strange metallic tang and some spectral wisps of cloud winding across the dark conifers of Badnage Wood. That's enough for now.