Outside, the ground is slick with overflowing, wobbly puddles that are edging ever closer to the doorway with each drop of rain that falls.
It has been a steady curtain, falling, pattering, schirring against tin and glass and and concrete for most of the day. The pleasant soundtrack of that violent, splattering burst of water being torn to pieces as it overflows from the gutter and gets swept to the ground by the giant, battering force of gravity.
The rain brings with it a sweet kind of freshness, where everything goes that one shade darker than itself, until night swallows colour and light shines from the grass and anything deep enough to allow water to pool.
It also brings electric blankets, cups of tea, books and bed.
Winter is here.