Halfway Over the Hill

 Back in September 2017  Standing on tiptoe in the narrow bathroom of my hired lodging in the hilltown of Ilboli, I watched a spectacular show playing out in the night sky through the thin strip of window set high in the wall. Lightening leapt off the shingle roofs, the frenetic sirocco known locally as the FaOoohn whipped round the chimney stacks and whistled inside. The distant hills flashed in and out of existence; and between rumbles and the drumming sluice of heavy rain, deafening thunderclaps rung through the startled house. The naked light bulbs over the wash basin quivered and dimmed repeatedly. Out of the corner of my eye, I was intensely aware of the shadows. I backed out of the bathroom and started at my own image in the mirror. This was my last day here, I'd been on edge all week. The cottage which had been undergoing essential renovation was ready to be moved into. I was going to brave it for a couple of weeks before returning to Paris. My first day there shoul