‘The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes’ Marcel Proust
It was a cold frosty night; the bleak plain was empty with just the odd skeletal tree writhing painfully towards the sky, there were no leaves for the wind to rustle. Each hollow branch was twisted like a tortured soul now only a ghost of natures past. Fresh dew no longer sparkled on the heath, the grasses were overgrown and the rust coloured shrubs were parched.
Not so far away, a dry bitter breeze sailed through the window of the bungalow waking Roy from his slumber. He groaned as he turned to check his digital clock, it was flashing, there had been another power cut. Roy stumbled to the kitchen and lit a few candles, before going to check on Betsy. He had found Betsy when she was just a puppy, but she had grown into the most agile and strong German Shepherd. She was Roy’s best friend, always reliable and playful, but he knew she disliked the storms.

