Sometimes the past, unresolved, comes sweeping into the present, like an unannounced westerly thunderstorm on a balmy day. After the thunder has roared, and the driving rain passed, and the wind quieted, you’re left to wonder at the force of the thing. The thing which makes you tremble, and forces you to take shelter in the safety of the dark, and yet it has no concrete existence. Where has the storm gone? Vanished, nowhere, thin air! It was not, is not, real – but so many branches have fallen, and the oldest dogwood uprooted. Things were shaken up. Still, only in your mind.

The past doesn’t exist, but what then of the grey clouds?