Last week I was lured outdoors, camera in hand, by the rumbling of thunder. Thunder? We haven’t heard that sound for months! The engrailed edges of the cloud against the bright blue sky couldn’t be the source.
The darkened sky above the fig tree looked more promising.
A strong wind bent the branches of the trees and sent leaves scurrying down to carpet the bare lawn.
Such dramatic scenes covered the sky.
The clouds boiled and grew.
Then the sun came out without a drop of rain falling to the ground. It was now nearly two weeks since we had received our first rain for months. The disappointment was palpable. Last night, quietly and without any fanfare or drama, the heavens opened its fine muslin cover and allowed 20 mm of rain to float down softly, almost silently, to leave sparkling drops of water on the leaves.
To laugh at our swimming pool wrapped up to preserve the water within.
To make splashes in the bird baths.
And to wet the old stone steps.
It is still raining very softly, very softly indeed. It is RAINING!