rain words

 thunder and rainbows

the things that matter

while the family dog slumbers

beneath my untidy desk

and steam curls from the fresh coffee in my mug.


rain and mud

powercuts and lightning

a fire in the grate

snow on the mountains

in a town called home

a sea too dangerous to swim.


blossoms, raindrops and soggy clothes on the line

a choir of birdsong cuts through the dimness

of an uncanny spring day.

a flicker of hope

as I see the sun squint into my bedroom

dapples of colour on the floor

and the dog runs outside

splashing across the sodden lawn.

the thunder ceases and a rainbow evaporates.


the things that matter.




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