A screen door slams means the
cats out for the night, while in
the sleepout I lie under the fan
that slowly stirs the limpid air.
I smoke another Chesterfield.
The house settles and contracts;
the dark is velvet with moths,
batting against the fly screens.
A cooling breeze next arrives
bringing with it a smell of rain.
White flash and close rumbles,
heralding the welcome arrival,
the smell of it on the red earth:
starting now as a patter upon
the iron roof, then a drumming
that comes – faster and faster,
the wet rods of drenching rain.
I stub out my last cigarette
and step out onto the veranda;
breath in the smell of wet rain,
strip off my singlet and shorts
to walk out naked into the rain;
letting it lash delicious onto my
receptive skin, mouth, and hair:
precious rain in Australia, the
most precious element of all.
© D G Moody 2022