Disappearing behind the angry clouds, the sun's face cloaked in misery, no longer smiling, but sulking. Curling up behind the gate, the rain ran down his face, the latticed frame now spitting insolent flecks at him. The wind lashed at his face and ran off shrieking, banshee-like over his head, deciding to play with the flowers instead. Shielding themselves in their petals, they were no match for the vicious wind who took sport in ripping off their delicate heads and bowling them along across the hedge, around the path and drowning them in the swollen stream which rushed in a greedy frenzy to claim them.

He shivered as he could feel the mist shrouding him, drifting forward and caressing his face with their creeping fingers and icy breath. The sky was racing along, teeming with the wind's wolves whipping the clouds into scattered formation across the grey leaden sky, battering them down. He could no longer see the friendly shapes of yesterday; a bird, a tree, several white faces up above, all were being beaten up by the hammering of the wind and rain. Thunder cracked its way down illuminating the wrinkles and lines on the trees; the sturdy oaks, the delicate beeches, the desolate willow weeping in the violent stream.

He searched for the welcoming green from the day before but to no avail, rain had churned the ground into dark mud; coating his shoes in murky slime, tripping him up, trying to suck him into the dank mire.