We’ve had a lot of sunshine recently. It’s been wonderful – I’ve been making the most of it and sitting in the garden as much as I can. Sometimes, when I have documents to read on my laptop, it’s not really ideal but I’d rather squint at a screen with the sun on my back and grass between my toes than stay indoors. I love writing outside too – I feel surrounded by inspiration, like it could drift in on the breeze, burrow its way out of the ground or clamber in over a nearby fence to surprise me.
But then a few days ago we had a sudden torrential downpour. Dark clouds raced across the sky trampling out all the blue and, in moments, down came the rain. Huge hammering pellets, blistering their way across pavements and hurling themselves into thirsty soil. It reminded me how much I love it: Proper rain. Not that kind of endless drizzle that seems to settle itself here in autumn for weeks on end, but the real stuff. The type that comes along and forcefully washes the air clean before going on its way leaving only that gorgeous fresh, earthy sort of smell behind.
As well, of course, as puddles. And who doesn’t like jumping in them?!
All of which is is a roundabout way of saying: “I wrote a haiku about puddle-jumping”.
Pools of fallen sky
collect in holes and hollows
for our joyful feet