In an English garden waiting for the rain

Heard some rain overnight. The weather app had promised hours of it, the reality was half an hour or so. I seem to be obsessed with rain these days. There has been so little of it here.  

Had a good morning's work. Looking again at the full collection of poems, and putting it aside did me some good, as I saw a couple of rearrangements in the structure that might help it. Mainly I just want it done. Just a few bits in the final section to think about now. Also sent off a couple of poems for the first time since January, though I've not started a new poem for months now. 

Lorraine home today, Pat and Maureen altogether better, and her personal trainer in Paris. After writing, I planted up some ground cover plants, using my knee pads, while Lorraine worked on pots, and went to pottery later in the evening. A walk in the evening, a giant thunder cloud to the north. Looking inland, the light was  low and bright, picking houses out against the dark backdrop. 

Of the promised rain for Seaford? Not a bloody spot, although other nearby areas were soaked. Sat downstairs by an open window listening to a lively storm grumbling in the distance. Lorraine, doing pottery in Eastbourne tonight. It rained there. Mum said it was thundering and stormy in London.