Tuesday, 10th.February 2026

It is unusually quiet this morning. The recycling team have been and gone. A neighbour has just this moment switched off her heating: the plume of water vapour through the flue in her wall – horizontal in the still air – has ceased. Somebody has called a gas fitter; a sky-blue British Gas van is parked in the cul-de-sac. It is so quiet my ears are hurting from the noise. Every tree, shrub and blade of grass is wet with globules of rainwater; rain intercepted on its journey to the ground, which itself is sodden. The lack of breeze leaves raindrops in situ – on the leaves.

And yet it is not raining. Will it rain? Perhaps in the next hour or two, allowing all the water trapped by plants to finish its journey. Or at least, the part of its journey that we can see above ground. Only to be replaced by a new batch of raindrops. Trees, shrubs and grass, all doing their bit to slow the progress of rainwater and, like all of nature’s services, it doesn’t cost us a penny.