There is something oddly calming about waking up to the sound of rain. The reassuring splattering as it hits the roof rhythmically (my bedroom window is next to a flat roof) and lulls you back to sleep for however long before the alarm decides that you’re done doing that now.
There is a sense of reassurance in knowing that the rain is happening to the world outside. Where it is all cold, harsh winds and slashing rain but you’re still reassuringly warm and on the brink of sleep. The slight hope that comes with knowing that by the time you are finally pulled from the clutches of your duvet the rain might have stopped or at the very least lessened considerably.
The freshness of the air that comes with recent rainfall. Makes everything seem cleaner, sharper. Puddles ripple gently in the breeze. Clouds break up slowly and let blue skies bleed through them. Yellow light glints of water in rainbows across leaves, grass and the ground.The day erupts in brightness from the previous purple, grey skies that had brought with them so much damp. Umbrellas are put away, but not away away. Just in case.
Then there is that slightly smug feeling that arrives should the rain come back and you’ve just missed being caught in it, even though you are armed against the seasons. You find yourself inevitably being lulled to sleep by the elements again. You watch the cycle repeat itself more than once because your sister has arrived Autumn and with it comes more rain than usual (‘cos ya know British weather and all that).
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