Rain

It's a minor pleasure.
I returned from spending a couple of hours in the pub with Drew, my friend.
We'd had a couple of pints and a long chat. Then, at home, I poured myself a large cup of tea. Naturally, I needed a piss. And on a warm evening in early summer, with the rain steadily drumming down, the only place to piss is in the garden, on the lawn. There's no need to aim, no need to be careful, I just help Gaia water the garden. It's sweet relief. There is wet grass beneath my feet, cool rain between my toes and warm rain upon my head. Bristol is quiet, the clouds are lit from below by the orange streetlights, and three pints of liquid empty from my bladder. And the rain drums down.