On A Rainy Sunday

The raindrops outside my window on a Sunday morning
tap at the ground like tiny handclaps.
A mist collects upon the glass,
nature's breath clouding the gray world outside.
I lay in bed, warm and dry, and watch
the droplets hanging from the awning
fall at random, making music on the pavement.
The peace is disturbed by the whoosh
of a passing car through a puddle,
and then silence, and then another splash.
The shower starts again, drowning out other sounds.
Pulling my blanket over me, I close my eyes
to the steady hum of the downpour
and become lulled to sleep.