The swish of tyres as a car goes past the house.
Hurrying footsteps as a lady in high-heeled shoes tit-ups past: clatter, clatter
The hiss of the rain as it spatters on the drooping leaves of the Wisteria, trees and plants.
The gentle plop of raindrops riplling into the pond
The wind agitating through the trees
A whoosh as it bursts in a sudden gust and the rain beats a brief, staccato drum beat on my window, as if tapping its fingers and asking to be let in.
Water gurgling away down the drain
No chatter or squabble of birds. No roar of planes overhead.
Everything is in hiding from the wet?