Pitter Patter

As long as I don’t have to go anywhere, I love the rain. Especially from the vantage point of my living room, which has an usual amount of window in it. Sitting under the skylights, it feels like I’m in a tent – a dry, claustrophobia-free tent. The rain patters on the glass like rice scattered into a pan; I’m newly aware of how accurate those wooden rainmakers are. The puddles on the patio ripple and splash and the leaves drip, their greenness amplified. The birds are still singing, unperturbed, the melody behind the percussion rising and falling like the tide.

I have the fire on. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here, cocooned in the knowledge that I don’t have to leave the house until tomorrow. 

Monkey by Kieran Hazell (www.ownbeat.co.uk)