I knew it wouldn't outlast the winter, so I took my tent down. Already it was sagging heavily under the rain water collected on the roof. After a code red storm warning I succumbed to the inevitable. And what's more, I live in a real house again.

I got soaked in the max ten minutes it took. Back in the van and still dripping I was, again, mesmerised by the raging elements and jotted down line after line, just couldn't tear myself away from the fury:

Towering waves take a bow when I applaud their arrival, but they fume at the mouth as a growl to my welcome. Then, as by a sudden change of heart, they dance and frolic on the cruel rock bed, prancing sideways in dazzling havoc. It's as brutal a closure of a storm driven journey as it is a playful demise of replenishing energy.

Wave after wave is assaulted by its offspring, thousands of raindrops hammering tiny dents in their incessant surges but these dissolve the nuisance with their casual might. Wind-crazed foam patterns like marine graffiti race up the soaring walls, crowns tumble asunder, are whipped to cream and finally wobble their last breath away on the rolling stone undulations in rhythms dictated by the gusts.

The overcast drifts by to lend an orange hue to the heavens and lights the shoreline fountains afire. The rock ridge that borders the meadow like stubborn heads, throws its silhouettes against the boiling white blanket.

Outside, dry now, for some final adjustments, a rope secured, a fish tray with stones and some other heavies to keep the sheet from blown up underneath and rain will collect again soon. The wet of my clothes turns ice cold, the van will warm me up, the house awaits.

Showered with help from unexpected friends I now have  furnished my gentleman's retreat(with a dash of bachelor) but for a cooker and a fridge. Easy seating in abundance and an ocean of bed promise a welcomfortable hibernation. After six years of being stored in bubble-wrap and cardboard boxes my sculptures see the light of day again. And a seven and a half meter pole in the backyard carries the aerial that connects my monumental writing desk to the world at large. My van is rigged into survival mode again and will be my mobile outhouse wherever I choose to drive it. There's a violent storm outside and, warming at my solid fuel stove, I count my blessings.