Of weather and courage .

Wet
Bloated , saturated , water oozing from every orifice : eyes , arse and everywhere in between .The landscape is drunk on water .

Its Falstaff , its the fat boy of Dingley dell in the Pickwick papers .
Collar undone , belt undone , still it's fat with water . No sluish gate  , no lock and certainly no man with a broom will make a difference .

Wet
Two  young Canada geese , cocky and sarky come up from the estuary .They start  along the grass parallel to the path .
On the path trendy hikers and the determinedly middle class walk wet in the expensive attire that style forgot .
The two geese wink at me and start to strut mimicking the pretensions on the path .

Dry
Many years ago ,being reckless , I walked into the newly opened hairdressers .
There stood a tall , big boned Asian man . I sat down and told him I wanted "different " and "bold". He wanted to know how much courage I had got .
I told him.
He said he hoped I was as excited as he was. Then he cut my long , long hair . And then he cut some more and shaved some more .
I stood up again with just peach fuzz on my head .We were both excited and I walked away to turn heads .

Wet
The rain is never far away . Get half way down the hill and you are sodden before you start your day .
Tired of the relentless weather . Tired of being tired I sit at the table and remember livelier times . I reach over and put the phone on the table . I sit silent listening to the rain . I have the phone number but do I have the courage ?
I ring and he answers . So I summon what courage I can and and I and my long hair go out .
I remind him of that spectacular cut .We both smile broadly .
He cuts .

Dry
So I sit here ,  late at night , listening to fresh music and drinking sappy green wine .
He cut , we hugged and the saxophonist says I look like a confident woman .

And I am  - me and my short shock of fire cracker hair .