Rainy day on holiday

Rain beats incessantly against the curved roof tiles,

Seeping through cracks it bleeds into the cool pastel pink, creating patches of dark that slowly grow like night. 

A murmur of voices and the crackle of distant cars over wet tarmac adds an off kilter rhythm. 

The greens in the hills seem to become luminous, as though they were watercolours touched with the painters brush and only now truly showing their colour. 

Dotted across the landscape houses of creams and blues remain tightly closed, their inhabitants choosing books and televisions ahead of the coves and beaches where they would usually dwell at this time of day. 

You potter, and when I look up and catch your eye, it is as though I can feel the sun warm against my back and the only sound is the Jay.