Rain
Reading Time: < 1 minute
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 2023
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