Outside this window #54
Heavy rain blankets the baby blue skies and puffs of cloud waiting to greet us when we woke.
Telegraph lines suspended between our houses relish the return of fat racing raindrops slithering down the straight black lines to join as one and splosh onto the road.
I am surrounded by yellow squares plotting my path as I tunnel through the first Act. The edit of another play glows as I discover possible strands to thread the story together. Ideas for stories are scrawled on post its beside the bed and the bath.
I capture what I can, and get back to work.
Pregnant drops cling to drainpipes and gutters. The telegraph drops sparkle and slide together. My coffee is cold; I don’t mind. It’s Saturday. Time to potter.