Somewhere it is happening:
Rain is falling in fine mist or wind blown sheets,
In cats and dogs and straight stair rods,
It is wetting, damping, soaking,
It is filling, mudding, flowing.
This time it is Gareth,
Knocking at the door,
The pitter patter of hail like fingernails on the window,
The drone of the wind like the howl of all the wild things
From here to the Atlantic Ocean.
This is just the front passing through:
The back will be along later.
Gareth is the name of a storm