Clouds pleat into themselves, like fresh folded towels; darkening and heavy with the promise of rain. Their shadows creep across cropped corn fields, causing crowds of crows, gleaning for grain in feathered formation, to take to the wing; heading towards the shelter of ancient oaks as they race the first fat drops that fall from dulled skies.
A gentle breeze turned savage buffets the hedgerows, sending ripening apples tumbling to the ground; the noise of their landing lost in the echoing thunder. As clouds crash and cluster, rain falls in torrents; bouncing off window panes, pooling on patios ; turning the world through glass to soft focus.
... and I, curled up with steaming cup and dog-eared book; stare out at the rivulets that run down blurred panes, listening to the music of the rain, and the contented breathing of slumbering cats.
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