Rain
[I meant to write about this experience in Brazil a while back but forgot, and it just came back to me again the other day.]
The heat and humidity are oppressive. I feel smothered by a thick, damp blanket, pressed to the earth by a heavy, enclosing hand. It’s too hot to move or even breathe, and the flat, grey clouds muffle any breeze. Even thought slows as I sit and stare.
Suddenly, there’s a basso rumble, felt more than heard. Surely it can’t be thunder? Then another low drum roll, closer now, and bringing with it a breath of wind like an exhalation, stirring the leaves. I stand up, willing the storm closer, knowing now why people used to dance to bring the rains. Come here, Storm, don’t pass us by. The pressure is immense as the storm builds, the wind lifting and tossing the tops of trees, everything is dancing wordlessly now—-Rain, come.
The wind stops abruptly and the giant’s hand is lifted. Fat, ripe, juicy raindrops explode on hot parched skin, detonating shivers of pleasure, waves of delicious coolness. I stand in the open, face turned to the sky, eyes closed, smiling, opening like a flower.
1
As you were in Brasil, shouldn't it have been a bosso rumble?
by Jonathan Briggs @ 21/10/2006 6:11 pm • Permalink •
2
I know I've said it before ... I think your descriptive prose is an extraordinary thing of beauty. I find myself completely drawn in to the story. I can smell the air, feel the tension, and enjoy the relief. Awesome!
by Jeannine @ 24/10/2006 11:10 am • Permalink •
3
I of course realise that perspective is everything but this knowledge has, unfortunately, not enabled me to truly appreciate your poetic description as I slide around in mud (feeling somewhat like I `m in the front trenches of world war I., without the shooting thanks), soaked by cold rain on the outside and drenched by sweat (because of the rain clothes) on the inside as I plant . I try the perspective of "this is perfect weather for the plants, the plants will like this, wuuudnerful planting weather" etc. and etc. Doesn´t help. Instead i find myself bitterly contemplating lifes evil irony as manifested by the mud that has, somehow, managed to reach the inside of my underwear. This despite the fact that no clothes opening, removal or outside contact with inside areas has occured during this whole landscaping struggle. HUMBUG! But don´t let me rain on your parade...
by john(jc.) @ 25/10/2006 5:11 am • Permalink •
4
Too late! The parade has finished. Our own correspondent will, I am sure, in no time at all, be producing a series of lectures on the discovery of a species of tropical Jackdaw that settles its didputes by means of an avian variation of Kendo using stick insects for swords - and as soon as girl wonder has her picture pages up and running smoothly again, we will no doubt be treated to photographs of said "Corvus Brasilia Bsagus", or whatever it is to be named!
by Jonathan Briggs @ 25/10/2006 9:10 am • Permalink •
5
Bsag - you'll have to allow us to edit our typos one day!
I'm sure I typed disputes.
by Jonathan Briggs @ 25/10/2006 9:11 am • Permalink •
6
Jonathan Briggs: Hehe
Jeannine: That's very kind---thanks!
john(j.c.): Well, I felt much the same today, even though I wasn't out in the rain. However, a tropical rainstorm is something else, and really a thing of beauty and delight when it's been stiflingly hot. I guess you had to be there....
Jonathan Briggs: Shush! That's supposed to be secret, remember? You'd make a rubbish spy, if you don't mind me saying so
by bsag @ 25/10/2006 5:10 pm • Permalink •
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