The thunderstorm which rattled through an hour before daylight has trailed a legacy of rapidly shifting clouds
Winter-browned leaves from the magnolia tree dance across the lawn.
Grey skies brood over green darkness below; the air which stirs the heavy linen curtains at the sliding door has developed more than a hint of chill
The voice of the wind rises from a whisper to a fretful whine, subsides, rises again with a hint of powers held in check.
The stage seems set, awaiting the production of a Gothic drama.