Storm Ellen was forecast. My husband Tim and I walked around the garden, putting away anything that might blow over. We had our tea. There was a possibility of a power cut, so my daughter Julie made my grandson Ricky’s bottles. As the wind gathered momentum, it stripped some leaves from the Boston ivy on the house. The leaves tumbled around the lawn awkwardly; the stems still strong and unready to drop. Ellen saw to their premature demise in the last days of summer. The birch tree visible from the living room window was blowing wildly. It’s shiny, deep green leaves rustled, but the sound did not reach our ears as we were too far away.

A storm always has the potential to do damage