With the terrible weather we have been having, and remembering an old M.R. James story - Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You - I penned this poem about the fury of the elemental forces that besiege our land today. The ancient art of weather magic was about calling up a storm, and it somehow feels as if the winds and rain which batter us are part of some dark enchantment.
The Storm
An ancient whistle washed on sea shore
Beware if you should hear its thin note
Spellbound with runes, opening a door
Brings forth a storm, the land to smote
A wind is rising, waves foam white
Spray flying high across the sea wall
The furies descent, creatures of night
A gale shrieking, their baleful call
The earth is sodden, and roots give way
Mighty trees topple, broken by this force
And devastation revealed in light of day
Furies know no mercy, have no remorse
Summoning the wind, and let all beware
The whistle brings the storm and fear
21 hours ago
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