A Random Bit of Writing About The Rain

The rain pelted down in constant and orderly lines, filling every hole, every space it came into contact with. This felt like end-of-the-world weather. I focussed on one section of the garden  which seemed to have sunk quicker than anywhere else. Ringlets of raindrops in the dirty brown water were constantly renewing themselves. A few stray strands of grass were attempting to resist, but every second they were being forced down by relentless raindrops, and it was only so long before they would disappear under the weight of the water. A blackbird had somehow managed to spot a worm in one of the only patches of grass left relatively unscathed by the maelstrom, and the worm was doing the dance of the almost dead, its two halves spiralling around like two armless drunks. The bird had already managed to cut it in two and it was now considering which one to go for first. That decision was about to be narrowed down considerably, because just then the light from the street lamp, which always seemed brighter than the sun, disappeared for a split second, almost like a camera flash going off. The bird of prey that I’d seen hovering around Briar Lane for the past week had finally found something worth diving for. In one clean and graceful motion she landed right behind the blackbird (it jumped in shock and tried to cover it up by swiftly flying off) and gripped what seemed to be a shrew in its beak.