I chose slip-on cloth shoes with thin plastic soles on the basis that they’d dry quickly. I didn’t bother with socks. Then I stood in the garage and heard the sky hurling water down on us, fierce and exact I saw spray cast horizontally, dashed against car windows like we were sailing and the plunging bow had frothed to anger a ploughed up sea. In the disused cat yard the silkies had turned to statues their pom pom heads motionless Maybe they really did think the sky was falling, crouching there awaiting the steely, suffocating blanket the nothing and the everything. I ran to help them, the rain hammering on my hood, the torrents of homeless water swirling around my feet. But they were more scared of me than the deluginous sky. By the time the rain had abated and the garage roof had stopped roaring (louder than the thunder) I’d got busy clearing drainage pathways my jeans soaked from my gortex down The cockies shrieked, echoing the sound of my shovel scraping the pavers. I pictured them, crests like yellow hands spanned and indignant but I didn’t look up to find them. I was thinking… remembering that day hail carpeted the pavers and the lawn, dirty white peas nestling in thicker and thicker and two hooded figures racing about with tools and shapeless shouts, precarious yet sure and me from the kitchen, reaching a ginger hand outside to scoop up a cupful of wonder for the kids, hiding my fear, my instinct to stay away from windows to take off my jewellery, the sense that every bolt of lightning would short circuit me, blaze me up in a terror of sparks. I was remembering and reflecting on that me and this me (the one out here in the storm offering to save chickens and dam up the streaming) and I was wondering wherein lay the difference.