She brings it in with her, the rain, clung to the tip of her nose and through her hair so it’s blacker than night. Strips out of her waterproofs till she has shape. Colour, risen high in her cheeks, on the knuckles of her hands. Reveals the desperation of it, crept through zips and openings. Slid a caress down her neck till she bears a collar of its touch. Trails it deeper into the kitchen, Siren kettle a song to sodden socked feet, printing a vanishing trail across the tiles.
Rain drops like marbles hammer themselves into lakes only to vanish.
We never measure the worth of just one rain-drop… just the water gauge.
Even I’m starting to think that perhaps the country has gone a little doolally in the recent months. For those of you who are up to date on the English weather you will know that England is currently considered to be in a drought. For those of you who couldn’t give a toss about the English weather, you should, it’s a fantastic topic of conversation. Constant opportunities for a good gripe or moan, no matter what it’s like outside the window. My shoes are still drying on the radiator from the walk from my sixth form to my car this afternoon! Areas of Britain are actually under hosepipe bans, and I’m squelching my way down the streets of Newport with an umbrella that recently gave in to the perils of wind! (It broke.) At present I’m spending an annoyingly large amount of my time resembling a drown rat, and this is not a look that I wake up and think, hum… I quite fancy looking like that this morning. Where I go to school is …