creeeping back steadily

It rained in the night, that cooled the air and bound the dust. Probably flushed the streets of all the dirt of the last few days as well.
It is dark, and there is the steady noise of the falling rain.

And be lulled by the noise and the soft rattle of the drops, on the leaves of the plants in the yard.

Awake later, it is light, there is the sound of the alarm clock that the son has set. The sound goes on and on. Oh bother, that is the end of sleep. The rain has stopped too.

The mess in the sitting room is returned again. Not returned entirely, but it is creeeping back steadily, with items lying around everywhere. Things do not get cleared away here.

It is a big flat, lived in by people with no great sense of order.

The sun, up earlier, has now been covered by cloud.
It will rain later, the weather forecaster said so, and he is probably right.

There is the sound of an ambulance in the distance. Saint Martins horns.
And the steady hiss will not let the head go.

Sit here with a cup of coffee, large and black, and think.

Now it is almost eight in the morning.
Let us start the day.
The weekend.