This morning as I wake, I hear outside the window, a stationary lorry with its engine running. Then I realize, with pleasure, that it is the hushed sound of rain falling, steadily and without any urgency.
As I pass the big oak on the corner of the Grove, I hear heavy rain drops, and consider taking shelter under it. The rain continues overhead, until I realize that the drops have gathered on the leaves after the last shower, and the breeze is throwing them down. Beyond the canopy of the tree, it is not raining. I think of a large dog shaking itself after swimming.
The church of St Martin's-in-the Fields in Trafalagar Square is being restored. To protect the builders and avoid an eyesore, huge hoardings have been erected round the building. On them, as on a piece of stage scenery, the church as been accurately recreated life size. The bell tower rising above the hoardings is the only part of the building visible. It is as though a famous person was hiding behind his portrait.
Lovely descriptions. Strange weather drought one year, floods the next. Famine and feast, we live in fickle times.
You are so incorrigibly cheerful in the face of all this rain!
I liked hearing about St Martin's.
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