Forty three days rain
Forty three days rain
Colour drains from the skyline
Breath steadies again
By 12 February 2026, it had rained for forty-three days here in the UK. Not always heavy, not always storming — just persistent. Grey skies stretch on long enough that you stop expecting anything different.
Today, the weather felt like it had settled somewhere inside me.
An anxiety attack came on quietly, without a clear reason. I’ve learned not to search too hard for one. Sometimes they arrive because I’m tired. Sometimes, because I’m fighting off illness. Sometimes, because my nervous system simply decides it’s time.
The sharp pain in my chest is the part that always gets my attention. It’s sudden and convincing. Even knowing what it is, it still feels urgent. I use the breathing I’ve practised — 4-7-8 — and ground myself through the five senses. Slowly, steadily, it passes.
The rain outside has been constant this winter. The colour seems drained from pavements and skies alike. But just as the weather will eventually change, the body settles too. Breath steadies again.
This haiku isn’t about the rain alone. It’s about endurance — of weather, of mood, of the small internal storms that come and go.
