Season 1 · Episode 24
The Storm Has Opinions
Published 20th September 2026
Nobody was in the mood for business.
The Storm Argument
By noon, Lightwood Square had become an argument between rain and wind.
The rain arrived first, hard and determined. Then the wind joined in, driving it sideways through the hedge, rattling the greenhouse panes and making the Oak sound as though it objected to being expected to remain upright.
Nobody was in the mood for business.
The Fence Post was empty. The bird table gleamed wetly and without an audience. The Fruit Tree had not so much been abandoned as tactfully overlooked. Even the Jacks, who could usually find a committee in a light shower, had apparently discovered the virtues of a roof.
High in the Pine, Percy flickered through the dripping needles with the hurried concentration of someone trying to complete a small, important errand before the next gust rearranged the world. Flora, Fauna and Merryweather passed through the hedge in a damp little rush, each looking as though she blamed one of the others for the weather.
“We should not have come this way,” said one.
“We always come this way,” said another.
“That is why it has found us,” said the third.
They disappeared into the densest part of the hedge before anyone could ask which of them had made the decision.
The rain intensified. A solitary Chiffchaff tried the far side of the garden, found no shelter worth discussing, and continued on. A Rook arrived in the Oak, gripped a high branch through one particularly rude blast, and looked down at the Square as if the entire weather system had been poorly organised.
For a moment, he seemed ready to make a formal complaint.
Then another gust lifted the leaves around him.
He declined to remain for the reply.
The afternoon disappeared behind the rain. The Summerhouse door shuddered. Water ran in silver lines along the path. Somewhere beneath the greenhouse bench, somebody made a brief, irritated movement and then wisely stayed where they were. No Robin came to inspect the arrangements. No Magpie appeared to explain them. No one saw Nigel, but no one could have reasonably expected a Woodpigeon to choose this as a moment for a social return.
As evening drew in, the rain loosened its grip without actually leaving. The wind took over the conversation. It pulled at the hedge, pushed at the Pine, and sent loose leaves skittering along the lawn in small, panicked gatherings.
The Square remained closed.
The Private Night
Just after midnight, an owl made the darkness briefly less private.
There was no audience below the Oak, no helpful witness on the Fence Post, and no committee to decide whether the visitor was making a warning, a complaint, or an entrance. The owl had its moment and was gone again, leaving the garden with only the weather for company.
Rain returned before dawn. By the time another owl interrupted the wet grey hour, even the hedge seemed too tired to be surprised.
Brenda Appraises
Then Brenda appeared.
She emerged from the lower hedge in the first thin light, surveyed the soaked path and the bowing stems, and gave the scene the sharp appraisal it deserved.
“Ridiculous,” she said.
There was no one nearby to disagree.
A Very Wet Development
As morning strengthened, the storm began to fray at the edges. The clouds remained low and fast, but the rain came in bursts now rather than sheets. The Jacks reappeared in the Oak, each arriving with the brisk relief of a creature who had spent far too long indoors with relatives.
Mr Jack Daw landed on a branch, shook himself once, and looked around.
“Any developments?” he asked.
“Weather,” said a Jack.
“Other than the weather.”
“More weather.”
The Oak was still swaying when Derek arrived and went straight to work on the trunk, apparently convinced that a tree ought to be used properly even when it was moving beneath him. Flora, Fauna and Merryweather came through again, less wet but no less urgent. They inspected the lower branches, exchanged three opinions at once, and vanished into the hedge.
Below them, Stirling’s squad emerged from cover.
The grey shapes moved beneath the bird table, across the sodden lawn, and into the Vegetable Garden with their usual unwavering purpose. The storm had flattened leaves and filled shallow hollows with water, but it had not persuaded Stirling to postpone whatever it was he was doing.
Mr Jack Daw watched from above.
“At last,” he said. “A development.”
“What is it?” asked a Jack.
Mr Jack Daw looked at the squad, then at the rain-blurred garden beyond them.
“Very wet,” he said.
The Jacks discussed this for some time. Derek ignored them. The squad worked through the garden in quick, careful movements and then slipped back beneath the hedge before the next rain burst could make an issue of it.
The Square was quiet again.
The Square Is Recovering
Later, the Jacks filled the Oak more confidently. Rooks occupied the far branches. They sat in the thinning rain with the fixed, offended dignity of birds who had survived an inconvenience and expected it to be recorded.
Mr Jack Daw looked towards the empty Fruit Tree, then the empty Fence Post, then the sodden Vegetable Garden.
“I believe,” he said, “the Square is recovering.”
A gust threw a fresh sheet of rain into the Oak.
Nobody answered.
DUFF. DUFF. DUFF-DUFF-DUFF.