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.
This morning, I woke to grey skies misted by drizzling rain and the gentle plink-plink-plink of water dripping off leaves.
It feels nice to be cold again.
Cars drive past, their tyres slick with rain, squeezing out tiny showers that spray against the bitumen. Fat drops of rain batter against the windows of the house and shhhhhhhh their way across the rooftop like the perfect soundtrack to an afternoon spent cooking soup or stew.
The lounge room fort, painstakingly created by Sid to cater for yesterday’s hangover is now a rainy-day-movie-haven, its generous supply of blankets and cushions and stretchy-out leg room already calling for me to abandon this keyboard and lose myself in someone else’s imagination for awhile.
I should probably go and claim the best seat. I have two cats to contend with.