The rain in spain....
The rain is finally here. The land has been unusually dry. We hadn't had a good downpour in months. The land was visibly aching for water. Brittle, dead grass, still stuck in the ground since last fall, not decaying, just drying into a husk. Now the cracked earth, like the chapped lips of a thirsty man, is greedily and painfully taking in the rivulets of rain that trickle across it.
A haze had settled over the city. A fat smog has hovered over the buildings, its eyes heavy-lidded, unwilling and unable to move. The air has been too still to disperse it. A windless winter has left us swimming in our own airborne refuse. Particles of dust and smoke hang around us, painting the sunsets pink as they slowly choke us to death.
But now the rain is here. The sweet water is droping out of the sky, dodging clouds, birds and buildings until it reaches the ground. One, two, and then finally a million droplets of rain. The pitter patter quickly becomes a cacophony against the windowpane; millions of smog particles roaring out in protest as they are dragged out of the sky and pooled across the city, eventually to drown and be lost in some city gutter. Hopefully we will have rain for a couple more days. Our lakes and rivers are dangerously low, they will be happy to add this new water to their bodies.
As for me, I am simply enjoying being a bystander to this watery revolution. I stare out my window and watch the rain fall and listen to it as it splashes across the city. I open the window and let that fresh rain smell permeate my room and take away that other kind of smog that forms in the houses of the listless and the uninspired. This weather takes me out of this dull sunkissed land and back to drearier northern countries, where it has inspired books and hot beverages for centuries.
Which brings me to the end; the kettle is done boiling, my tea is nearly ready.
A haze had settled over the city. A fat smog has hovered over the buildings, its eyes heavy-lidded, unwilling and unable to move. The air has been too still to disperse it. A windless winter has left us swimming in our own airborne refuse. Particles of dust and smoke hang around us, painting the sunsets pink as they slowly choke us to death.
But now the rain is here. The sweet water is droping out of the sky, dodging clouds, birds and buildings until it reaches the ground. One, two, and then finally a million droplets of rain. The pitter patter quickly becomes a cacophony against the windowpane; millions of smog particles roaring out in protest as they are dragged out of the sky and pooled across the city, eventually to drown and be lost in some city gutter. Hopefully we will have rain for a couple more days. Our lakes and rivers are dangerously low, they will be happy to add this new water to their bodies.
As for me, I am simply enjoying being a bystander to this watery revolution. I stare out my window and watch the rain fall and listen to it as it splashes across the city. I open the window and let that fresh rain smell permeate my room and take away that other kind of smog that forms in the houses of the listless and the uninspired. This weather takes me out of this dull sunkissed land and back to drearier northern countries, where it has inspired books and hot beverages for centuries.
Which brings me to the end; the kettle is done boiling, my tea is nearly ready.
Comments
:(
madrileños should laught under the rain.
However, I have found that that tends to happen after a day of rain. The initial couple of hours of wet weather tend to smell quite nice, that wet dust smell. So, I stand by my former description of today's experience.
Oh, and I wish I lived in a garret! Almost that high up, but not quite.