Down pour 

The windows are splattered,

the sky is damp and grey

My smooth feet

 beneath my tight rubbers

splash in soft, cooling, puddles

Here comes the wind again, restless and repeating, dangerous and freeing.

To the east, and the west how far do these clouds stretch?

A hard ceiling of sculptless greys, 

pale against every tree that sways

bent, curved, with stretched fingers

cold beads of rain

a twigg that trembles