I have no idea what to name this

The rain splashes hard on the asphalt.  She treads softly.

The wind has picked up but the scattered leaves are sodden and stay put.  No moon out tonight.  It is incredibly dark, and the darkness requires that each step be carefully placed.  Not knowing the neighborhood, she is hesitant to turn on the small electric lantern.  The wind dislodges large drops from the overhead branches.  They thump her head and shoulders.

She stumbles onto the sidewalk, tripping over the curb and crosses to the trunk of the grand old magnolia that flanks the library entrance.  Leaning against the trunk, she listens. Intently. The wind and the rain mask all but the most obvious sounds.  There are none. 

She waits.

The wind is holding steady but the rain is coming down harder.  She stands under the tree and chews her lip in indecision. 

"What are the odds - that in the internet age anyone would even think of the library? And besides, how many bibliophiles had she met that were dangerous criminals.  Go to the prisons, they are lifting weights, not volumes.  Or at least they used to be.  But what about the Steven King fans?  They have to be a little off"  She is also a great Steven King fan but has always been convinced that that cast serious doubts on the benignity of her own mind.

Breaching her indecision she begins a crouching crab-walk towards the front door, betting on the weather to cover the sound of her approach.
Coming alongside the alcove that shelters the door, she stops and waits again for sounds of occupation and sniffs the air for the smells of people.  "Person" she reiminds herself.  The odds of "people"  were even more remote than the nefarious bibliophile, Steven King fans excepted.  No unwashed armpits, just mildewed leaves.  She steps into the alcove and waits again, squatting with her back to the brick side wall.  The dark cavernous library is too spooky to turn her back to.    .