A single raindrop slivers down my breezy window.
The clouds are mottled with patches of grey and black.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, too far for lightning to be seen.
The wind picks up as the faint patter of rain falls in my garden.
Only one thing comes to mind when I think of bad weather, why do I live in England?
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15, Pretty words are not always true and true words are not always pretty
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