Shelter from the storm

But it's raining.  Raining in my heart....

Storm Ciara.  Storm Dennis.  Storm Jorge.  Storm Covid..... Storm Boris..... Storm Cummings.... Stormy Mondays.  It's a hell of a time to be alive.  It would have been so much simpler in the Good Old Days, when, for example, the walls of the White Castle, Castell Gwyn (not the novel by Orhan Pamuk), some seven miles from Abergavenny, in Monmouthshire, were gleaming white..... 

I am here to shelter from the storms, though it still rains in my heart.....  The landscape is sodden, the clouds are heavy and grainy.  It's hard to find a ray of light....

There's a nearby cottage.  It seems to welcome me, but....

Everything up to that point had been left unresolved....

[I] Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm....

"Come in," [I would love her to say]

"I'll give ya shelter from the storm...."

There's not a soul around.  The landscape is godforsaken.  The Skirrid (Ysgyryd Fawr) eerily glistens at me from under the purple rain.....

Wild trees shriek at me, like harpies in the gale....

The road stretches out, shining under a  burnished pewter sky.  But, it's the road to nowhere....

I could seek refuge, crying, in a chapel, but  its doors are locked, as are mine....  

So, damp, and cold, and strangely alone, I  turn and cross the bridge over the troubled waters of the Severn while I can.....

Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line

Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine

If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born

Come in, she said

I'll give ya shelter from the storm

Bob Dylan

Shelter from the Storm