We are at playgroup; the last of term in a heatwave.
The grass has turned to straw,
and the children run about in their swimming costumes.
The colour goes out from the sky though, and there is a clap of thunder that makes us all jump.
The rain falls on us like God is pouring it from a bucket,
And the children scream in unison.
The mothers laugh at the audacity of the weather while picking up the little ones that run to them.
elisabeth pike 