The cat jumped onto the window sill and watched intently. An impending storm.
You want to get back to your morning routine but could not tear your eyes away from the sky. Silently the both of you stood, mesmerised by the everchanging shape of the dark, ominous cloud above.
Like a bad omen the raging shape approached, the trees beneath it dancing like woeful nymphs, limbs outstretched and flailing. The cat jumped off and fled under the table; you expect hostility.
You waited for the assault.
But when the rain came it was gentle. The muted patter on your window was rhythmic and soothing, almost a lullaby. Chastened, the wind stilled the trees and the soil turned a deep shade of earth.
And quickly, it was gone.