Outside a storm
and I feel at home
for this is what weather looks like

A day that calls for woolly socks
a fashion choice the black crow mocks
what may think the loggerhead shrike?

My riding boots take me to a puddle
my son in my arms
he insists to cuddle

Inside I’m calm
and dutifully kept warm
by my blue linen dress

The house still a mess
I have to confess
rose tea at least the kettle brews

Where are the predatory songbirds hiding
when the storm shakes the past year’s dust off the trees? 
Where to find shelter 
when the sky, their home,
is a helter-skelter?