Catherine stood a few feet away from the French windows, watching, absently, as the droplets of rain, raced down the glass, towards the swollen framework. She thought, what she always did at this point- So much for the window frames,
that can cope withanythingmother nature, can
throw at them!
She glanced, automatically, at the edge of the door, that opened out onto the small, metal balcony. The black and green spotted mark, smeared down part of its length, was spreading slowly towards the floor.
Once, at the first sign of the black mark, she would have lunged towards it, cloth in hand, desperate to keep her nice, new acquisition, looking as pristine as the day it had been fitted- but not now.
She moved closer, trying to see if the few survivors in her window box outside, needed to be baled out again. The box sat defiantly clinging to the window bottom, taking what little shelter it could from a small overhang, that had once (or so she had been reliably informed) been used to shade anyone sitting on the balcony- or indeed lounging just inside the door like windows- from the suns long forgotten rays.
Sighing, she pulled open the door. It creaked loudly and shuddered, as she forced it towards her, then leaning outwards, grabbed the edge of the window box, tipping it quickly, so the puddled water slopped out and down, through the rusted remains of the balcony floor (the wooden planking had long since gone) to finally ground its self, two stories below.
She knew that sooner rather than later, she was going to have to get someone in, to remove the rusting hulk, that was all that remained of the balcony. Everyone else’s had gone, taken away before they had the chance to
break free and crash to the floor, only hers had clung defiantly on.
Below her, she noticed a cat, sitting curled up on a window sill, belonging to one of the ground floor flats.
A pigeon sauntered along the edge, between the grass and the narrow flagged path, that ran all round the building. Both pigeon and cat seemed to accept each others presence, without actually acknowledging it.
Before the rains, birds had spent their time flying around rather than walking, cats had taken advantage, whenever they could, for a quick snack, but no more.
Respective generations of both parties, had, seemingly, reached an unspoken agreement – either because neither could be bothered any more, or because the cats, had realised, there was no sport in chasing something that was too waterlogged to fly away and so presented no challenge. Leaving the birds, resigned, to their semi-flightless fate.
The remains of shrouded daylight, began to fade away.
As she pulled the curtains closed, she glanced towards the rapidly dimming horizon, hoping for the faintest hint of red, that would, perhaps, promise a new dawn. The dawn of her dreams, with a multicoloured archway, showing off the final droplets, of the never ending deluge, that had browbeaten them for so long.