Rain on the window, again

It rained for six days. Not dramatically — no storms, no flooding, nothing to talk about — just a patient, steady rain that made the whole week feel like one long afternoon.

The window by the desk fogs up in weather like this. By mid-morning the garden outside is a soft green blur, and every so often a drop gathers enough weight to run down the glass, leaving a clean little channel behind it. Through those channels the garden comes back into focus for a moment, sharp and dripping, before the fog closes in again.

A small game

I started wiping a single clear patch each morning with the side of my hand, the way you did as a child in the back seat of a car. By lunch it was gone. By the next morning I would make another one, somewhere slightly different, and see what the garden looked like from there.

It is not a profound practice. It is, however, a reliable one, and on a grey week reliability counts for something.

Things that were good this week

The sound of rain on the shed roof. Soup. A library book that turned out to be better than its cover. The moment on Saturday when the rain stopped and every bird in the street seemed to start talking at once.