Rain down on me.
I couldn't crawl out of bed this morning. Not due to tiredness - I managed to get a much-needed early night last night - but due to wonder.
Regular followers of my sleeping arrangements will know that the bed is situated just below a sky-light, set in the sloped roof of the house. I love to just lie there, watching the weather from the safety of the room.
This morning a blitz of fat raindrops were falling on the window pane. I lay there, transfixed, hypnotised by the staccato impact-sounds of water droplets against the glass, watching the liquid remnants of the thousands of individual collisions coalesce, the progenitors of miniature streamlets weaving and winding down the pane.
It transported me 20 years back in time, sitting eating sandwiches in my Aunt & Uncle's car - we were parked overlooking the coast somewhere in Wales, the windscreen being battered by the elements, the wind mixing together the salty spray from the sea below with the rain plumetting down from the grey skies above.
These are the best sort of memories, I find. Memories of nothing much in particular except atmosphere.