The four wooden panes in the sash window are covered in the clear diamond beads of rainfall, rivulets running down, fed by the grey water falling heavily outside. That familiar comforting sound, fat droplets battering the house, steadily drumming, nature’s heartbeat.
Fields of golden brown stretch down to the bay, the water gleaming slate, hammered from the sky. Waves break high over the rocky headland, angrily throwing up white spray, whipped away in the wind.
I sit, deep and heavy in the navy armchair, running my fingers over tactile patterns upholstered, curled over the arms. I track raindrops down the glass and think of nothingness, thoughts washed away bit by bit, drop by drop. Waves break on the sand far below, salt water frothing, mingling with the sheets of rain saturating the shoreline. Rocks glisten even from afar, dark shapes looming from the enveloping cloud.
We sip tea and sleep, we read and we write, we hang our damp clothes and slowly steam dry, winding down, breathing out accumulated tensions we never even realised we had.
The steady hammer of rainfall continues in the background, holiday soundtrack, bringing us down to earth, a cleanse for our souls.