It has been raining today. Not the light little spits we have been getting during this failed wet season, where it’s only enough to colour the grass and increase the steaminess when the sun comes out again. No, today was proper rain. The type that has us standing in front of windows watching the torrent like a television because we’ve forgotten what it looks like. For anyone living in the dry tropics and enduring a drought, it’s almost transcendental.
The big wet season soaks revive all the brown things on the land and turn them green in an inconceivably short time. Wallabies get fat. Jabiru storks fish in the green space in the city. Green tree frogs croak in downpipes. Life seizes its opportunity in our parched space.
The rock pool that my old dog and I found would be full now. She would have waded into it, chest deep, wagging her tail as she always did. Josie’s Grotto we called it.
This memory turns my thoughts to walking. The rain brings out the tree-hugger in me and I long for a walk in the steady falls. I feel part of the landscape and I’m as much revived as the brown grass.The hypnotic spattering on my hood drowns out the white noise in my head and I come back feeling fresh and clean. New life indeed.
I look forward to that day when I can put on my rain jacket again and head out. Patience… It’s a virtue they say. For now, I’m content to sit with my cup of tea and enjoy it from inside.