On the window, against a stone grey day, the rain.
Watching the view change, dissolve and return.
The church in the distance, a reminder of yesterday.
Here in another room, cosy, cosseted against the weather.

Warmth, from an un-open fire.
Sat at the window, back to the home.
I’m there with you, this now is complete.
No missing part, just us and a view of the rain.

I only wish I could share this, help you
understand why I get this way. Nostalgic,
maybe, but more a sensation I’ve long known.
In its stead I can only offer time, and silence.

Alone, together, in thoughts of places,
where the view may be different,
but the feeling’s the same. I am there again,
watching the rain. It comes in harder now.

Still, no need to move, no need for activity.
No need for a book, nor a cup of tea.
Just you, the rain, and the grey view,
and a seat to watch the window run.

Normally Devon, sometimes Wales, not yet Cornwall.
Outside, the wet granite comforts against change,
reassures, and, maybe a cup of tea then.
Entertainment is not needed, instead a meditation drawn
softly, with sound now, hard against the pane.

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