Rainy Weather

An image of a warmly lit, softly textured illustration of a wooden writing desk. At its centre sits a delicate ceramic mug decorated in William Morris’s ‘Strawberry Thief’ pattern, the deep greens and blues alive with twisting foliage and tiny birds. Steam curls upward from the hot chocolate within, carrying an invisible warmth. Beside it rests a small green plate, its floral motif framing a single golden-brown pain au chocolat, crisp layers catching the light. Around them lie notebooks and pens, evidence of thoughts paused mid-flow. Through the window beyond, blurred with rain, a lush garden of flowers glistens in the damp, softening the edges of the scene with a gentle sense of calm and reflection.

Dear Diary,

The rain has been falling since morning, tapping its own soft rhythm against the windowpanes. I confess it makes me a touch melancholy, as does the music on my wireless – Debussy’s Reverie, floating gently through the room like a sigh. It speaks of a world somewhere near, but not quite here. Perhaps a snug cottage by the sea, a gentle fire in the grate, dogs still sandy from an earlier walk in the brisk breeze on the autumn beach. A memory of the fragrance of woodsmoke and salt.

Yet there is comfort here too – a delicate pain au chocolat upon its floral plate, a steaming cup of hot chocolate warming my hands, rich and sweet.

Biggie, my faithful Biscuit Hound, lies curled at my feet, snoring softly, and for once there is no pressing work tugging at my sleeve. The garden glistens through the glass, each flower jewel-like in the rain. All, I think, is good with the world.