In Western Australia rain is synonymous with winter. Not so in my childhood. Rain meant the monsoon. We eagerly waited for the rains. It came after the heat of summer. I’ve written elsewhere in the blog about how we slept outdoors in summer, our sleep disrupted at midnight, every night, by rain in the period between seasons.
“It’s going to rain tonight!” was a chorus before we quietened down to sleep. We would inhale deeply the heavy earthiness of impending rain. Despite the surety of disrupted sleep, the petrichor too delicious to sleep indoors.
The cycle each year, the same.
Until next time
a dawn bird