Changing Pavements

Eternity. That's how long it has rained and drizzled and sprayed and sprinkled. It is a grey day but it also is a happy day. From the warmth of where I'm sitting the world is poetry. But of course, from the warmth of where I'm sitting, it's easy to be poetic.
The rain has become a drizzle. The windows are freckled with a gazillion drops. And when I try to look out, my view is distorted by the hundreds of tiny fish eye illusions they create.
I try to count them, but they outnumber my fingers and toes. So I refresh and start afresh, but my fingers and toes are still outnumbered.
Trees have lost leaves, and wholes have lost halves . If you ask me it is the season. Autumn brings with it a need to shed the old and grow the new. Play-lists will change, new wallpaper and curtains, long locks will become short crops, even your bathing soap changes - classic menthol remains classic menthol.
Somethings never change. And some, will take a part of you with it while on its way out. You revel in that space it leaves behind. It's the warm afterglow of closure. It's like the poetry around me right now.
And when you're home and watching the rain from under the warmth of a patchwork quilt, you realise - the void has been filled by the plain Jane wonders of your distorted world.