April 26, 2013 by talkaboutyork
I am sitting at the kitchen table attempting to write my novel. The sun is streaming through the large glass doors and roof panels. It is the perfect temperature. Just warm enough to lull me to sleep. My eyes feel heavy. My head nods forward. My hands still. My sleepy brain imagines itself as a solar powered battery, soaking in the heat, stocking up its reserves. My thoughts become fragmented, slipping from one to the other. I’m not really awake anymore, I’m drifting away.
The cat has the same idea. He is sitting on the window ledge outside the kitchen doors. The sun has heated the bricks, his tummy is warm. His eyes start to close. His fur is fluffed up as though opening up his flesh to receive the heat directly.
We’re both startled out of our dozing by a rat-a-tat on the glass. The sun is blocked by a vast black cloud. Hail begins to pelt down, slowly, sporadically at first, then faster and faster until it’s a permanent drone of noise. The cat eyes the hailstones suspiciously. He is keeping dry, just, protected from the worst of the frozen missiles by the overhang. But the heat is gone. The chill wipes away all somnolence.
I raise my head and reread the last few words I have typed. I can’t concentrate. I keep watching the white balls bounce and jump in the small courtyard garden. I’m transfixed, hypnotised. So is the cat.
It stops as quickly as it started. The sun returns, bringing with it its sleep inducing powers. It is warming me again. The cat wants to come in. I let it. He sits on the chair next to me, basking in the rays, out of danger from any strange falling objects from the sky. I am about to drift off again, when a gentle patter of rain heralds the return of another scudding cloud.
Like a fickle lover, massaging me to sleep before tickling me awake before lulling me once again, April and its infamous showers are here. And there is something quietly comforting about them.