Watching the Rain
I’m sat in a little coffee shop in the market town of Beverley, East Yorkshire, England. The rain is coming down outside with a light but incessant continuity causing the shoppers to scurry around for shelter like panicking mice. I am not a shopper. Neither am I bothered about it raining, as I like the rain.
The paths are shiny and slick, the shop windows illuminated from within in a way the sun would dismiss. For the first time in a week, I feel relaxed, at ease, content. And as I sit here in my too soft yet strangely comforting leather seat, I wonder this: do I care if the sun ever returns, or am I already preparing for winter?
Who’d have thought just watching the rain could affect a person so profoundly? Then again, it could just be the caffeine addling my brain.