After days of sun, last night brings rain: brings the scent of damp earth, the tap and splash of satisfying drops against glass and dusty windowsills. Cool floor tiles under foot, sun warmth lingering. Washes of rain deepen colours even in the dark: wet surfaces reflect: soft midnight blue. Wind sings in the wire: sings, this is your world, your beautiful world.
This morning blows between sun and showers. Eyes open reluctantly. Everything feels reluctant. Tired weight drags.
This evening, as the car rolls down through a series of traffic lights, just another car in another row of cars, and we have drunk the last of the espresso from the lid of the old pink flask, I look up. I think I see a lost balloon, at first, a round of helium filled foil: or it could be a bin bag, billowing, swept above the slow traffic bustle.


  1. 'I think I see a lost balloon'

    I got a scrim of excitement when I read that thinking, it made it!

  2. There is nothing I love more than rain!!! Thank you for this post.
    God Bless.

  3. Next time, Suze, surely next time- maybe your balloon was inside the escaping binbag?
    Thank you Bhav: we get a bit too much of rain here but it still has its charm!

  4. It hasn't rained here in a very long time. Your post made me feel a little less parched: thank you!


Post a Comment

Thank you for reading my words- my chance to read yours here:

Popular posts from this blog


On Track

The Silly Ones