​On a Rainy Day

On a rainy day, life moves just as it always does.

The birds arrive for their seeds, shaking the droplets from their wings before settling in. The squirrels rummage for peanuts, while the tiny ones search for pumpkin seeds — the ones their small teeth can manage without effort.

Only the slow little mouse is missing. It used to appear so often, unhurried and content in its own small world. Perhaps it has simply slipped into a new routine, finding a quieter rhythm that suits it better.

Foxy — my rooftop fox — continues her gentle rituals. She stretches into her cat‑and‑cow poses, unbothered by the drizzle, then pauses at the edge of the roof. She always waits for me to close the door so Luna won’t chase her in that playful, teasing way.

Even in the rain, the garden keeps its familiar pulse. Wings whirl. Flowers scatter under wind and water. Yet the rhythm of life remains steady, unchanged.

All the small rituals continue, as if the rain were only another soft note in the day’s quiet song.