Wind or Rain.

Wind?

Or Rain?

Jack lay there uncertain. Would wind have woken him, the dream had been deep and intense but no he was floating on the surface of a new day.

Rain then.

He tried to smell the earth, leaves and acorns; scents that should surely be rising from the garden to the first floor window that was open.

Nothing.

Perhaps the rain had only just begun and had not yet pierced the dry resistance of the outside. He watched the curtains inside, still drawn against the night to see if they were moving.

Nothing.

Not a ripple.

Ripple?

Rain.

He was not usually this uncertain. Normally he would have left the bed already, flung the curtains aside and knowing, climbed down and gone outside into rain or wind.

Instead he lay there wondering.

Then thinking about what to do.

Read a chapter of the book waiting for him to finish?

Make some tea?

Run?

Or take pen and paper, and write.

Wind?

Or rain?