I heard it during the night. A gentle pattering on the roof. Rain. Blessed rain. It’s been so dry, the sort of dryness that makes you wonder if it will ever rain again. Earlier in the day, we’d had a sprinkle, barely enough to dampen the dust. But this, falling in the darkness, sounds like proper rain. It’s not heavy. But it is rain. I burrow into my pillow and let the sound of it lull me back to sleep as I will it to continue.
In the morning, the world is wet. The leaves glisten with it and in the dawn light the grass has a phsophorescent green sheen, chloroplasts come alive. The path down to the beach shows evidence of water having run down it during the night. The tell-tale lines of debris. The ocean out beyond the barrier rocks is wild, white caps whipped up by the south-westerly wind. The waves crash and boom, sending jets of spray skyward. The wind blows in my face as I walk along the shore.
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