June 7

I

Awoken early by thunder.

The rumble is all around me. I’m not afraid. Happy to lay and listen to the crack and tumble; on the edge of sleep.

The rain shatters down and I drift back to sleep.

II

The raindrops splash down on the flat grey felt roof and cause hundreds of rings in the water; rings that ripple out and overlap each other and disappear, as quick as life in a year, in a day.

In a few moments I am spellbound and held by these appearing and blending and blurring rings.

III

It rains in straight wine lines for thirty seconds at Sutton. The lines like spears, stabbing down.

Then the spears splinter into tiny slithers of white rain and flicker and stop.