I’d already decided today was going to be remarkable; this helped.
The thick mist coalesces into a light rain. Moments later the the collected rainwater scampers down the gutters and drains into the curb of the close where Nita stands. She backs up a few steps to keep her skirt a little dry. The steepness of the close and the lowness of the overhead passage forces her to squat to maintain her survey of Lower Thomasburough. She hitches up her skirt, again to keep it somewhat dry.
All along the north facade the buildings are white or whitened. Along the obverse southern facade they walls are dark with age. Anyone looking up the square to this corner close will see her. White skirt, white hands, and white hair silhouetted by the black of the dark close, then framed by the white again walls. But it’s misty and no one will be out, excepting the person she’s waiting and she’s not using her eyes to locate that one.
Nita watches the draining water fan out over the cobblestones in a wide arc running perpendicular to the gentle slope’s contour. The tempo of the rain picks up.
Word count: 192