The rain falling from a tree lands with a weight It is comfort, the outside world reminding me it's real There is more than the airless, dry aired, stuffy rooms of school There is a whole world to explore. If I ran into the middle of the moor, and closed my eyes Breathless The roar of traffic could almost be the sea Northern, icy, blue-green-grey. In my kind it tickles the priory on a stormy night. I wonder what it would be like to be somewhere hot Where warm, humid air and bright light was outside And icy cold white expanse was in. Those grey clouds are more than the grey tinge of copy paper. The black of tarmac is more than board pen The spiny trees are real, no words come from their branches All are familiar, and yet outside provides comfort. Inspiration.