After The Rain


The slanted sun made cauldrons of the chimney pots, the terrace's brick facades still black in the shadows. Millions of tiny raindrops hung from every available angle dotting my path with sparkling jewels, the dyke again a perfect stream. Every green leaf was a perfect green, every branch a liquid ochre. It might only have been a walk around the block, a perambulation to clear my head, but there was never a better time than after the rain.

Author's Note: We've just had a storm which lasted an hour. As soon as it finished, I was straight out. Perfect!

The image is from Pixabay because I forgot my phone. D'oh!

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