Storm of the Century by Ross Thompson, written during lockdown 2020
Remember ten years ago the country was hit,
full force,
by a cold front so fierce that no amount of grit
could thaw the ice.
No shovel could dig out the snowfall
and return the sucker-punched country to normal.
Well, just before the storm drew in, I was rushing
through town,
trying to get to my car, pushing and shoving
through crowds
to reach home before the police closed the motorway
and blocked safe passage and promises I had made.
Halfway to the bay, I stopped in the skirmish when
I noticed
a family, dead still in the melee, staring
like tourists
at a plateau of black cloud covering the tips
of spires and roofs, dropping down like a mothership,
unfurling wings of inky black and slate grey curls
to reveal
further swirling folds of bitter cold to which we
would soon yield.
In years to come, when someone asks me for the facts,
I will say: waiting for the virus felt like that.