The rain which has been threatening arrives just after lunch. I dash outside to help my friend bring her washing in from the garden. It’s already dried, but now the clothes are dotted with damp splodges - still worth the effort since a couple of hours on the airer will leave it ready to put away or iron if need be, instead of sodden and dripping on the line.
I drive home to the swish of the windscreen wipers – earlier I’ve cleaned dust from the glass, thinking it would cause glare in the sunlight.
dry weather dust
raindrops on the windscreen
wipers work hard
Another cup of tea – the hasty tea-bag variety – and I wander upstairs to the computer. I hear an odd sound and look out of the window.
There’s a girl, aged about eight, sitting on the sill of her bedroom window, legs dangling. The window is just above the garage roof, a very short drop. She’s singing, not the greatest tune, but I decide it must be rain-madness after a couple of weeks of dry weather. I think of myself at her age, and reckon I’d have been dancing on the garage roof. In New York kids’ upstairs rooms have to have safety bars. Just as well.
a sense of danger