Thursday, April 12, 2018

Let it rain. Let it . . . Hey, it's raining!

I've always believed in the power of the written word but I had no idea. Since posting my yearly epistle a week ago about the lack of rain, we've had an inch of precipitation over two nights.


Late Tuesday afternoon the southeast skies had darkened—auspiciously or ominously depending on one's point of view—and lightning sliced the clouds followed by the deep rumble of distant thunder.

Our rain usually comes from the southeast and so I told Félix, "Finally. It looks like rain." 

But Félix, gloom meister extraordinaire, quickly dismissed the show as just another teaser.


An anemic initial drizzle immediately began, followed by the unmistakable plop-plopping of some serious raindrops on the patio umbrella. It started to rain for good and Félix had to concede this might be for real.

"At least it didn't forget how to rain," he said, before it really started to pour. He had to wait a half hour for the rain to ease so he could bike home.


By morning, we'd received a half-inch of rain, followed by another half-inch last night. An impressive show considering the rainy season generally doesn't start until mid-June.

Suddenly, the perpetual dust has vanished and the recently plowed fields around us turned the deep black shade of wet mud. We now need to pay attention when we walk the dogs: That gooey mud sticks to your shoes like setting cement and you gain ten pounds from the added weight of your feet.

Later than night, the intake pipes of our rain cistern, which are embedded in the walls, could be heard gurgling happily from inside the house.

Wednesday morning I went on the terrace earlier than usual and the birds were in a particularly chirpy mood. The saturation of the colors of the landscape increased overnight. The air smelled damp. Their feet hidden by a rolling fog, the mountains seemed to levitate.


Or was this all my imagination? It could be, like pretending that I could squeeze rain from the stingy clouds just by writing a whiny post about my impatience with the dry season. Or maybe Félix is right and this is nothing but a teaser rain.

But just in case my prose indeed has the power to bring rain, I'm going to write another post next year, and this time right after Christmas. 


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