Then, a sudden drum roll on the window heralds the downpour. Rain hits the leaves, pearling and dropping from the tips and edges. The finery worn by the roses becomes soft, a soaking dress that droops. The heads of the flowers droop from the weight.
The drum roll ends, as suddenly as it started. Natures conductor holds the orchestra silent, until slowly the steady sparrow chip, chip, chip sets the rhythm, then the squirling piccolo blackbird sings. Bit by bit the players are emerging into fresher air, cleared by the drummers insistent beat.
In the midst of all this one member of the household has conveyed much displeasure at the weather outside. In the way only a cat can he has demanded in, then out, then in. He has washed himself, just to show he cares not what the weather man says. Before finally demanding one more door opening.