The heavens are full of tiny holes where the water falls through. In the garden, flowers were heavy with little orbs of half-rain, half-mist, and the sights were accompanied by the parrying of umbrellas which looked from a distance like blots of paint against the grey washed sky.
The stones on the edge of the lake were covered with moss, and a few rare trees still held the chestnut red of autumn. The curious carp rose briefly to find that the commotion of the ripples were just beads of drizzle on the surface, and the birds had taken shelter from the air.
As I stood at the edge of the water, the drops gathering on my see-through shield, I thought how nice it was for once, that it was raining.
