when it’s about you…
We push open the cracked door, and listen to it complain as rusty hinges bite. The greenhouse is old, dusty; plants are spilling over their baskets reaching for the ground. After a few minutes, I look outside; the sky is gone. So are the hills and the trees, lost in a thick, damp fog.
It’s as though we have skipped a season, time moving faster outside than here with us. But that’s okay: I’m warm, I’m dry, and I’m with you.
We threaded through the laneways, connecting the dots and drawing a line from the station to our regular after-work coffee spot. On the way we found which shiny cobbled paths reflected the light the best. I thought what a beautiful city it was in the rain, which struck me as lucky, given that it rains here all the time…